


Destiny

by nazlan



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 193,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1721777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nazlan/pseuds/nazlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale of life lessons, crossed paths, unexpected allies, enemies old and new, and a love that was meant to be. Accept what you are, but be who you want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eye Contact

**Author's Note:**

> This serial was originally posted at ff.net and the Gamejag forums, but I'm reposting it here with some...improvements (because I just can't leave well enough alone). Standard disclaimer boilerplate applies - Wizards of the Coast own all things Baldur’s Gate, except Kelsey, who belongs to Jason Compton, and Maera, who belongs to me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As usual, he was waiting for something to happen._

Kelsey Coltrane was bored. Boredom had long since ceased to be a passing sensation for him - it was a state of being so profound as to encompass his entire existence. He had been so far removed from anything that approximated interest for so long that he awoke bored in the morning and closed his eyes at night bored by the very act of sleep. Not even the thrill of passing Galoomp the book seller a secret cache of magic scrolls with his order of Calminshite romances was really all that thrilling. He was not a adrenaline junkie by nature, nor was he one to defy the law for excitement’s sake, but anything was preferable to the dull sense that the entire world was moving, and he was standing still.

It hadn’t always been like that. When he was a kid at his father’s side on the caravan routes, every crested hill had been a new world, and those worlds had been boundless beyond his reckoning. But that had been childhood, and he was an adult now, and the road was marked with sameness wherever it led. Funny how he’d seemed to trade one sort of magic for another.

Funny if you liked your comedy very dark indeed.

He nodded his farewell to the rotund shop keep and made his way down the steps and across the Promenade to one of the outdoor teashops. Waukeen’s Promenade, the jewel of the City of Coin, was bustling with shoppers, hawkers, and merchants, the colonnade’s white walls and pillars reflecting the late afternoon sun. He didn’t care. He wasn’t a tourist, after all. He knew Athkatla, and the Promenade, and knew that they were just stone and people. There was definitely no magic here, not of any sort. The Cowled Wizards wouldn’t have it any other way.

He ordered his tea, paid for it, and sat. As usual, he was waiting for something to happen.

For once, something did. With a bone-numbing rumble, one of the northwest towers suddenly shuddered as half the terraces that abutted it exploded, raining masonry on the ground and crowd below. A wave of fire rushed from the collapsing structure, and some prickle at the base of his skull told him it was not natural. People screamed, running in every direction for their lives, pushing others out of their way in their haste to put distance between themselves and the falling pillars. Kelsey, however, ran toward it.

Brick dust and smoke filled the air, chokingly thick. A man lay on his side, bleeding from a gash on his head. Kelsey fumbled about in a pocket of his robe, pulling out a small blue bottle. He held the healing potion to the man’s lips. (Always a prudent move to keep one or two on hand - you never knew when you’d need them) “Drink this,” he shouted over the babble of confused, frightened voices.

Over the tumult came a roar, a wordless cry of rage and frustration. “You dare to attack me here?” The man who spoke was a strange figure, dress in an odd costume that revealed his massively developed arms, yet covered his head, showing only a cold face that appeared somehow stitched on, as if he had tired of one worn before and sought to replace it. He was surrounded by hooded figures in black. Who they were and why such shadowy sorts were attacking someone by daylight, Kelsey didn’t have time to wonder, for three of them suddenly disappeared into dust, and he could only be awed and horrified at one who would dare murder with magic in Athkatla. The man to whom he’d given his potion, seeing this, bolted even as his head wound was still healing.

The hooded attackers stood no chance against the stranger, who reduced them to smoke, and stone, and ash with frightening ease. “You will suffer! You will all suffer!” he spat, and the rage in his voice would have made Kelsey’s blood run cold, if it hadn’t already been half-frozen. He could throw the odd fireball, when he had to, but this sort of power was mind-boggling. And to use it so openly, with such casual, vicious disregard for both life and propriety - 

There was movement on the edges of the stranger’s murderous tableau, another group of people, struggling to their feet in the rubble. There must have been a tunnel, he realized, and the explosion opened it to the surface. There were three women, and a bulky mountain of a man, no; there were two men, the other dressed in a hood and leathers like the now-dead shadows. 

“I won’t let you leave!” shouted the stranger, apparently to the newcomers, “Not when I am so close to unlocking your power!” 

The youngest of the women, skinny and strawberry blonde, scrambled atop a broken column to stare him down. Magic crackled on her fingertips. “We don’t want anything from you!” she cried, firing off a few magic missiles at him. Kelsey winced. She wasn’t a local either, apparently. This couldn’t end well.

As if his thoughts were made manifest, the scent of ozone filled the air as a Cowled Wizard enforcer squad teleported onto the scene. “This is an unsanctioned use of magical energy,” boomed one. In reply, the stranger simply destroyed two of the wizards as though they were made of paper. Kelsey’s eyes slid again to the group on the edge of the rubble. Another of the women was trying to pull the first from her defiant perch while the wizards were distracted. She was taller, with a round, lovely face, and pale blond hair. She was speaking urgently, and looked as if she was about to bodily drag her companion down when the stranger spoke again.

“You bore me, mageling,” he announced. “You may take me in, but you will take the girl as well,” The girl on the rock was suddenly very conspicuous, her friend’s hands on her arms, and she appeared to realize it.

“What!? No, I’ve done nothing wrong!”

The Cowled Wizards were not impressed. “You have been involved in illegal use of magic. You will come with us.”

“I’m not going with him!” she cried. “Help me! Please!”

The wizards disappeared with their prisoners, clouded in the reek of ozone. The blonde staggered back, stunned to see her friend slip from her fingers like air. She lunged forward, only to be caught by the third woman, whose delicate features bespoke elven ancestry. “Imoen! _Imoen_!” Struggling against the other woman’s arms, she cast her eyes about in desperation, and for an instant, they met his. 

In them, hot and bright, he saw pain, loss, and a determination so fierce it lit her from within like a fire. She burned with intensity and purpose and drive, with everything he had been lacking in his own life. Her eyes seared him, convicted him, shook him to the core. He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until she and her companions had vanished into the crowd.

Something clicked deep inside him, some truth of the universe made unexpectedly clear. He had to know who she was.


	2. Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I'm Maera, by the way. Pleasure to meet you, Kelsey Coltrane."_

At the Den of the Seven Vales, a conference was in session. Or at least that’s what Maera would have called it in another, more sane time. She sat in the corner, knees drawn to her chest, staring into a cup of mediocre wine as Minsc and Jaheira stared each down like mountain rams preparing to charge. The image made her want to laugh hysterically, but a deeper, more primal survival instinct warned that that would be a very bad thing indeed.

Besides, if she started laughing now, she might never stop.

"We cannot stumble blindly after the mage, no matter how sorely we are tempted!” Jaheira’s nostrils flared. “We must regroup and PLAN.”

"He is a villain! Why should he not pay for what he has done?” Minsc demanded, his voice ragged with frustration.

Maera glanced up as Yoshimo slid onto the bench beside her. “Fair friend,” he said quietly, “are you well?”

She drew in a shuddering breath, raking a hand through her hair. “I’ve had worse shocks. Not many, but I have had them.” She watched as Jaheira’s body tightened like a spring. Time to be proactive. “I’ll be all right…but I need to break them up.” She handed him the wine cup and stood. “Please, both of you, let’s sit down and catch our breath.”

Minsc towered over her, his broad face dark as a storm cloud. “Boo says we cannot wait! Dynaheir’s killer has slipped through our grasp like a greased weasel!"

Yoshimo held up the wine cup with an 'are you going to drink this?' look. Maera shrugged, and he drank. She wasn’t sure what to make of him yet. Why he had chosen to involve himself with three grieving, traumatized strangers was beyond her. “I would not call his capture by the Cowled Wizards an escape, large one,” the thief said. “They have little love for competition. He will likely find myself under their gentle ministrations for some time to come.”

Maera rested her hands on Minsc’s huge biceps. “He knows more about this than we do, Minsc. The most important thing right now is finding out how to get Imoen back, so I have to take Jaheira’s side. I want to make sure that mage pays for what he did to Dynaheir and Khalid, but we’ve obviously stepped into a swamp here, and we have to be sure we can find a solid path. Otherwise we won't do any of them any good.” She deliberately caught the eye of the hamster sitting on Minsc’s shoulder. “Boo? Do you understand?”

Minsc cocked his head as Boo nosed about his ear. His face fell, and he sat heavily, his chosen seat groaning slightly. “Boo says he understands. He does not like swamps.”

“Neither do I,” Maera said. She glanced over at Jaheira, who had sagged into a seat of her own. “Jaheira? Are you…"

“I am fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Then I shall _be_ fine.” The druid’s lips were compressed to a tight line, almost white against her olive skin. “I do not like being among so many people. I wish to meditate and I fear I shall not be able to in such surroundings. I will seek what solitude I can, elsewhere. You will understand, I am sure.”

Maera sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I understand, Jaheira. I…I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Indeed.” Jaheira swept towards the bar - to purchase a private room, no doubt – her chin set so firmly as to be a danger to those she passed.

“Solitude does sound good at the moment, actually.” Maera said softly. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.” She ducked into a small antechamber off the common room and leaned against the wall, trying to breathe. Closing her eyes, she felt inside her jerkin and undershirt, feeling the new scars that criss-crossed her left breast, scars she didn’t remember getting. What had Irenicus done to her? Why couldn’t she remember it? Her last clear memory was the camp a few miles from Baldur’s Gate. They had planned to wake early and be in the city by mid-morning. But something had happened that night, something she couldn’t recall, and the next thing she knew, she was in a cold damp cage, body aching and a fresh wound dripping blood into her right eye as Imoen shook her awake.

Imoen. She had remembered. And what she remembered had sent her up onto that piece of rubble, angrier than Maera had ever seen. Not just angry. Enraged. Whatever had happened in that chilly, forbidding laboratory had filled Imoen with more rage than Maera had ever known that small frame capable of holding. But now she was all alone with those awful memories to prey on her, snatched away from the people who loved her for breaking some bizarre law she’d known nothing about. Maera shuddered, her eyes burning, her throat tightening. No, she couldn’t cry now. Not now. Not for Imoen, not for Khalid, not for Dynaheir. Not now. Not yet.

Deep breaths. _There is peace at the center_. She let herself slip back into the memory. She was 13, and Gorion stood before her in the training room. Her eyes were closed, and she was listening. “My child, today we will work on your concentration. You possess great martial talent, but to translate that talent into skill you must learn control. Now, take a deep breath, and exhale slowly.” She did as she was told. Book lessons bored her, and he had given up on trying to teach her magic years ago, but honing her fighting skills was exhilarating. “Inhale, and exhale again. Is there any tension in your chest, Maera?”

“A little.”

“Then continue. With every breath, release the tension until it is gone.”

“What happens when it’s gone?”

“You will find the center. There is peace at the center, for a truly prepared warrior. Otherwise you will strike with anger or pride, and they will fail you. Do you feel it?”

“Yes.”

“Then open your eyes.” She did, and caught the quarterstaff he threw. For a mage and scholar, Gorion was a keen duelist with a staff, but that was the first day she almost beat him. The next day, she did.

Deep breaths. The tightness subsided, and the burning managed to taper off to a few tears and a runny nose. Nothing could be gained by losing her head, and nothing accomplished by standing still. She would mourn for her fallen and fear for her lost later. She marched back out in the common room, grabbed the half-drunk cup of wine from Yoshimo and drained it to the dregs. “You know this city better than we do. What do you advise we do next?”

He gazed up at her calmly, unruffled by her reclamation of her wine. “You seek information, yes?”

“As much of it as I can wring out of this town.”

“Then we must begin in a less...well-appointed venue. All things, even answers, naturally seek the lowest point, and there are very low places in Athkatla.”

She wanted to be more suspicious of the mysterious thief, but dammit, she liked the way he talked. “Then where do we start?”

“There is a tavern in the slums known the Copper Coronet.”

“And it's a low place?”

“The lowest I have ever known.”

 

* * *

 

It had been more than a tenday since the disturbance on Waukeen’s Promenade, and Kelsey was beginning to wonder if he was losing his mind. He didn’t even know her name, but whatever she was involved in, whatever had brought her to that place, he had to know, because if he knew where she was going, maybe he would finally know for himself. His fixation on the idea unnerved to him to a degree; he couldn’t explain it, even to himself. It was more than simple curiosity. It was a need. He hadn’t _needed_ anything in years.

It didn’t help that he was no closer to learning anything concrete. In the past week, there had been rumors of a slave ring in the slums, centered at the Copper Coronet tavern, being broken in spectacular fashion. So spectacular, in fact, that some counting-house wags were claiming it had to be the work of Harpers or some company of big-name northern adventurers. Idle speculation or not, he'd chased down the reports; he couldn't bring himself to believe that dramatic happenings didn't follow the mystery woman wherever she went. And that impulse was rewarded at the Coronet with whispered, awestruck tales of a golden-haired woman with fire in her eyes, kicking down doors and cutting down slavers. But by the time he'd gotten there, she and her companions were already long gone.

And just that morning, as he crossed Government Park, he’d heard talk of an invasion of trolls being beaten back from the keep of a country baron by the name of De’Arnise. He had a good guess who were responsible for that. But what could he do now? If she had already left Athkatla, how could he possible find her? He couldn't delay his own departure much longer anyway; he'd have to take another job soon, if only to put off having to head back east again for just that much longer. And the fact that his purse was starting to get a bit thin – especially since buying all that information in the slums – was not lost on his internal ledger sheet, either.

Wasn't this all just a little far to the side of crazy, anyway?

Kelsey sighed, leaning against the marble retaining wall of a fountain and scrubbing his face. It had seemed like a great idea. It had seemed like the best idea, but he'd only been fooling himself. Whatever she was mixed up in, there wasn't any room for someone like him – a merchant who could do magic that wasn't like regular magic. Magic that came from nowhere and didn't seem to care what his opinions of it were.

He gazed into the rippling water morosely. Over the fountain's gentle murmuring, he heard people approaching in booted feet, but he gave them no attention. He'd just spent a week chasing after a phantom for reasons that were, in his newfound state of rationality, completely ludicrous. He sighed again. Besides, what would he say to her anyway?

“All I can say is that boy had better be here.”

He looked up, and there she was, the same set of companions trailing after her. The other woman commented, “I am still unconvinced that leaving a child under the oversight of Gaelan Bayle was the wisest choice.”

Her voice grew louder as the party neared the fountain. “We’ve been over this, Jaheira. Bayle said he’d make sure the kid was provided for while we were gone, and I made it clear to him there would be consequences if that didn’t happen. Best I could do.”

It was really her. Now that he could get a closer look, he saw that she was almost as tall as he, her light hair cut to a sensible length about her face. She wore battered leathers, and a sword on her hip, and carried herself with the easy grace of one accustomed to both. Her eyes were a dark, rich brown, astonishingly so for one of such fair coloring. Those eyes could cut right through you, he thought. All the more reason not to screw this up. What would he say to her? Time to open his mouth and find out. He took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“Hello.” _Gods, I already sound like an idiot_. “My name is Kelsey. Coltrane. I saw you on the Promenade last week, in the middle of that mess with the Cowled Wizards, and I figure anyone who can walk away from that must be worth knowing.”

She stopped, and blinked. “Hello,” she said slowly. “I have to ask, if you saw what happened at the Promenade, why did you just watch? We could have used some help.”

Not quite the reaction he was going for. “Well, for starters, my kind of help would have probably gotten me carted off with your friends.”

“Friend. Singular."

“My apologies.” The new and improved Kelsey Coltrane, now able to dig himself into a 50% deeper hole. But she wasn’t walking away. She tilted her head, and he got the distinct impression he was being sized up.

“You’re a mage, then?”

He flinched involuntarily. “You really aren’t from around here if you’re so willing to say that out loud to someone. But the answer is, sort of. Let’s just say it’s not a conscious choice.”

“So you’re a sorcerer?” Curiosity flickered in her dark eyes. “I’ve read about sorcery, but I’ve never met anyone with the gift."

Gift? He'd never heard it called that before. “I’d like to make up for before, if I can.”

“By?”

Now was the time for directness. Be forthright, Coltrane! Be assertive! Don’t make an ass of yourself! “Joining your group, if you’ll let me.”

She regarded him for a long moment, and again, he was having trouble breathing. Please say yes, he thought, I _need_ you to say yes. He forced himself to meet her eyes, and to hold them, and maybe that was what cinched her decision, because she said finally, “We take standard shares. I'm in charge. And this isn't seasonal, it's...specific.” He nodded, not sure he could speak quite yet. A faint smile crossed her face, and she reached out to clasp his forearm. “I'm Maera, by the way. Pleasure to meet you, Kelsey Coltrane.”

They made their way across the broad park in front of the Council of Six building, Maera making introductions as they walked. She stopped short suddenly. “There he is! I guess Bayle kept his promise after all.” A young boy, no more than 12, was standing under a spreading elm, looking lost and nervous. She approached him, bending slightly to look him in the eye. “Hi. I’ve heard you’re looking for someone to help your village.”

The boy nodded. “Y-yes ma’am.”

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Delon. P-please, ma’am, you have to help! I’ve been gone so long anyway, and this hooded man told me I needed to wait for a blonde lady in leathers, and I guess that’s you…”

She smiled and gave herself a glance. “That would be me. Where’s your village, Delon? What’s happened there?”

“I’m from Imnesvale, ma’am…in the Umar Hills. Something’s been attacking people, turning them inside out! And then their bodies disappear!”

Maera glanced at her companions, then looked back at Delon. “You’re brave to come all this way by yourself, Delon. I’ve never been to the Umar Hills before. If we leave tomorrow morning, will you be my guide?”

The boy’s eyes widened, and he nodded vigorously. “Yes, ma’am!”

 

* * *

 

They spent the night at the Copper Coronet. The change in management had not made the clientèle any less rough, but the general aura of the place was friendlier. Hendak's reputation preceded him, and it was apparent no one was willing to test his limits just yet. Maera circulated through the common room, watching her party. She turned a blind eye to the fact Yoshimo was working the patrons in his own inestimable fashion, pausing only once to remind him that if he was caught, he was on his own and she didn’t know him. Minsc kept a fierce guard over Delon, regaling him with stories of adventures in Rashemen. Jaheira was sitting off to the side, watching them. A stranger would have interpreted her expression as stony, but Maera knew her well enough to see the faint smile. She sat down. “You seem in better spirits. Are you?”

Jaheira took a deep breath. “It was…comforting to leave the city walls behind, and I am glad we shall soon do so again. I feel as though I will be able to regain some measure of serenity, seeing wild things again.”

“That’s good. I’ve been worried for you. Is there anything I can-”

“Please allow me to face my situation in my own fashion,” Jaheira said, the clipped edge returning to her voice. Maera dropped her eyes. “I have been concerned for you as well,” the druid added. “You have been much restrained the past few days. I know you feel it necessary to maintain control because of your…heritage, and I appreciate that, but I also know you are capable of much gaiety, and I have not seen that side of you since we made our escape from Irenicus.”

Maera stared at a particularly interesting knot in the surface of the plank table. “There’s not as much to joke about without Imoen.”

“We will find her, Maera.” The younger woman remained silent. “Have you been dreaming again?"

“It’s not the same as the other dreams,” Maera whispered miserably. “I dreamt of Imoen. She said I would come too late.” Jaheira reached out to touch her young friend’s hair, but Maera rose suddenly. “I’m just worrying you again now. I’m going to go be social with the new recruit. He seems nice enough.”

Jaheira caught her wrist. “We will speak of this again.”

“I know.”

Maera wove her way towards the central firepit, where Kelsey sat, scribbling away in a notebook. He _did_ seem nice enough, and his nervous eagerness to join up had been oddly endearing. Friendly faces were so few and far between, and his was remarkably friendly. She paused for a moment, watching him write. She’d never been much for redheaded men, but…he wasn’t hard on the eyes, in a long, lean sort of way. She shook her head and sat across the table from him. “Would I be interrupting to sit here?”

He glanced up, and the notebook disappeared so quickly she wasn’t sure it had been there to begin with. “Of course not!”

“I wanted to get the chance to speak to you one on one. Our situation is...odd, at the moment and you deserve to know what you’ve gotten yourself into. And...get out, if you want. I certainly wouldn't blame you if you did.” She took a deep breath, fixing her eyes on the table. “There were six of us: me and Imoen, Jaheira and her husband Khalid, Minsc and his witch Dynaheir. The mage you saw in the Promenade – he had captured us, somehow. I’m pretty fuzzy on the details because I’m…missing some time there.” She swallowed before continuing, struggling to keep her tone flat. “He killed Khalid and Dynaheir, and was conducting some sort of experiments on me and Imoen. I don’t know why. I don’t know what he wanted. And honestly, if she hadn’t been taken, I would have been perfectly happy to just put this behind us, get out of here and get on with our lives.” She glanced up at him, and saw he was watching her with rapt attention. There was something about his expression, a mix of interest and honest empathy, that invited her confidence. A lift of his eyebrows and a slight smile encouraged her to continue, and she did, her voice stronger.

“The day after we escaped, we were approached by a man named Gaelen Bayle. You’ve heard me mention him. He claimed that he had contacts that could, for a rather steep fee, arrange for Imoen’s release. It became apparent pretty quickly no one else even wanted to discuss the matter, so we took him up on his offer.” She shot him an inquiring look. “The Cowled Wizards really own this town, don’t they?”

He chuckled as if she’d just made a very funny joke. “Oh, yes.”

“Why?”

He parsed his response for a moment, and then said, slowly, “Traditionally, the people of Amn have been a bit suspicious of magic – I guess it goes with the merchant mindset. So when the country was unified and the Council of Six established, they set up the Cowled Wizards to regulate the use of magic.”

Maera leaned back in her chair, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “From what I've seen, it looks more like a protection racket. Don't bother with magic unless you know the right people or can pay the right people.”

Kelsey rubbed his chin, smiling faintly. “I hadn't thought of it that way, but I guess it kind of is. You'd think a bunch of merchants would know better than to give anyone a monopoly. But here in Athkatla they have the numbers and the support of the nobility to keep running things the way they want. So they do.”

“I thought as much. Definitely explains why some of the looks I got for asking questions where Imoen might be.” She sighed, then laughed nervously, feeling inexplicably embarrassed. “So... now that I’ve foisted all my collected baggage onto you, are you still feeling like you need to be a part of this?”

“Honestly?”

She nodded.

“Even more now. You’re doing something really important, and I like that. Um, not the kidnapped and experimented on part. That part sounds terrible. But the part about getting your friend back – that I want to help you with. Having a mission will...make a nice change. Besides, it’s not as if I’m baggage-free myself, so I’m in good company.”

He smiled at her, and she wasn’t embarrassed any more. She propped her elbows on the table and smiled back. “Well then. Your turn.”

A week and more’s worth of agonizing over the identity of the mysterious woman in the Promenade, and it had not even occurred to him that he would like her so much. And not just the usual reaction he would have to an attractive woman, though she was definitely that, with her hair stained red gold by the firelight and those amazing eyes and that smile, quick and brilliant as a lightning flash. But it felt so good to talk to someone. He was struck by how lonely he had been, without even knowing it. They talked for hours, long after even Yoshimo had bored of card games and picking pockets and gone to bed. He’d told her about the family trading business, and his childhood travels with his father, and she had listened with interest. (“I can’t even imagine. I lived in the same place for twenty years.”) He recounted the first frightening manifestation of his magic, and she had been sympathetic. (“Yikes.”) And he’d acquainted her with his Uncle Birinar’s insinuating takeover of the business after his father's death (“Sounds like you got a raw deal.”), and his own journeys with caravans and various militias. “Birinar obviously didn’t care what I did as long as I stayed out of the way. I guess I realized it just didn’t matter when I got back, so I started taking longer and longer, and that’s what really led me to the caravan guard jobs. It was interesting, at least for a while, and definitely better than being an under-appreciated part-time accountant, though in my own defense, I really can balance books like nobody’s business.” And she had genuinely laughed.

Now it was so late it was almost pointless to go to bed, despite the fact they had to be up early to set out for the Hills with Delon. Kelsey grinned sheepishly at her. “I think we might be insane.”

She glanced around the deserted common room, which was lit now only by the embers of the firepit they sat by. “I think you’re right. You know, before I came over here to talk to you, Jaheira was telling me she was worried that she hadn’t seen me laugh in the past week. Now I think I’ve laughed enough tonight to make up the deficit.”

He gave her a hard look, or at least what passed for a hard look in a dim room on short sleep. “Was that an accounting joke?”

“I guess it was.” She snickered, then reached over and touched his hand. “This has been a very nice change of pace for me, Kelsey. Thank you.”

He looked down at her hand, calloused and scarred and yet strangely elegant, resting on top of his, and suddenly his pulse quickened. “It has for me too,” he managed.

She gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m going to try to catch a few hours of sleep. You should too."

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Good night. Or, good morning, rather.” She laughed again and headed for the stairs.

Kelsey took a deep breath. Well, this was unexpected. He was smitten.

 


	3. Of Roadtrips, Past and Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Everything as it should be. Except that it was all wrong._

  
Maera’s head throbbed, and Jaheira was withholding her headache tonic, purely out of spite, it seemed. “Jaheira, you said yourself last night that I’d been too serious lately. Time just got away from us!” The druid’s pursed lips indicated that this was not a good enough excuse for getting barely three hours of sleep the night before setting out on a two day trip. Apparently, the resulting headache was to be viewed as penance. “Come on, Jaheira!” she pleaded. Behind her, Yoshimo chuckled. She shot him the best frosty glare she could manage. “Oh, this is not funny,” she grumbled.

“I am not laughing at your pain, fair friend. Rather, I find Lady Jaheira’s refusal to be amusing. She is a harsh mistress.”

“You have no idea.” Maera glanced back, down the line. Minsc was continuing to entertain Delon, who seemed enthralled by the giant ranger. It was a good match; Minsc was typically more comfortable around children anyway. The complex yet linear nature of normal adult thought confused him, which was why she had come to view him as a huge, sweet natured younger sibling, despite the fact he was probably nearly a decade her senior. She looked past him to Kelsey, and caught his eye. He was pale, and the dark circles under his hazel eyes looked like someone had smudged charcoal beneath them. He looked like she felt. She shot him a rueful smile, which he returned.

The highway that led east from Athkatla was level and broad, and Maera’s spirits rose as they passed out of the suburbs of the city and into farmland. It warmed her to see Jaheira’s countenance soften, and by noon, the druid was willing to part with her remedy to both Maera and Kelsey. As the shadows lengthened, Delon jogged up to Maera. “Ma’am? If we’re going to stop at an inn, we’ll have to stop at the next village. It’s ten miles at least to the next one.”

She was feeling surprisingly good, despite the lack of sleep, and Jaheira looked so pleased to be out in nature. “You know what, Delon? I think we’re going to press on past the village, and camp tonight. But if you would, when we get closer, would you run into town and buy us some fresh bread for tonight’s meal?” She fished a few coins from her belt pouch and handed to the boy, who beamed.

“You’ll make an adventurer of him yet.” Yoshimo remarked.

She gave Delon a clap on the shoulder and smiled. “Well, he did make this trip by himself the first time. I think he’s got one up on us already.”

They camped that evening near the roadside in a copse of oak. Delon had procured some warm, fragrant loaves of wheat bread, and Jaheira worked her usual magic on pot of stew. Maera looked about as her meal settled. Yoshimo was sharpening his katana, and Minsc was setting up the tents with Delon’s assistance. Jaheira meditated a short distance away under a particularly fine tree, and Kelsey was jotting something in his notebook again. It was nice. It felt good, being in camp, in the open air with the stars above them, on their way to help someone, with an attainable goal in sight. Everything as it should be.

Except that it was all wrong.

Khalid should be sitting by the fire, playing checkers in the dirt with Imoen, glancing over at Jaheira occasionally with adoration in his green eyes. And Dynaheir should be pouring over her spellbook, silently mouthing the arcane words to herself as she studied. When Jaheira was finished, she would make her way back to the fire, plant a kiss on Khalid’s cheek, and proceed to critique his checkers strategy. This would bore Imoen, who would wander over to Minsc, and attempt to steal Boo, prompting a mock scuffle that would end with her over his shoulder as he lectured her about taking other people’s rodents. This performance would earn a patient eye-roll from Dynaheir, who would order him to put down the little thief, and the evening would end with Maera assigning the watch and Imoen carefully copying mystic figures into her own small spellbook under Dynaheir’s watchful eye.

Tears stung her eyes, but thankfully, she could blame the wood smoke.

 

* * *

 

Maera had been kind and given Kelsey the last watch, and he slept hard. He woke to her nudging him, and he yawned and stretched and took his place on the perimeter, but halfway back to her tent, she stopped, rubbing her arms and staring into the dark. She looked back over her shoulder at him, then turned, and seated herself on a log not far from where he stood.

“Do you mind?” she asked. “I don’t think I can go back to sleep.”

“Not at all.” He had always liked keeping watch; one simply stood and paid attention to one’s surroundings. On quiet nights, it could be an almost meditative experience. But he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Maera every few minutes. She stared up at the sky, the leaf-filtered moonlight illuminating her face, her expression thoughtful. He couldn’t help but wonder what was going on behind those remarkable eyes. “May I ask a question?”

In an instant, she was back in the present, looking at him. “Of course.”

“About Yoshimo.”

Her smile was faintly puzzled. “What about him?”

“Well…how well do you know him?”

He didn’t so much see her shrug as hear her leathers creak. “Well enough for knowing him a tenday or so. Irenicus was holding him captive, too, though he didn't know why; we met up making our escape and he decided to throw his lot in with us. He’s proven trustworthy so far. Why do you ask?”

Why _did_ he ask? “He…well, he’s a thief!” Kelsey replied lamely.

But Maera’s smile became one of understanding. “Ah. I see.” She patted the log next to her, and he sat. “Please understand, I don’t have much use for robbing people, and as long as I lead this group, there won’t be any of that. But you’ve traveled with adventurers before. A good trap springer and lock picker can be worth their weight in gold.” Her face grew distant again for a moment. “Im certainly always has been.”

“Im?” As soon as he spoke, it made sense and he felt slightly foolish. “Oh, your friend Imoen.” She nodded. “Wait. The Cowled Wizards took her. She’s a thief? I thought she was a mage.”

“She is, but that’s not how she started out. She only learned magic later. Mostly from Dynaheir, but also from a few friends in Baldur’s Gate.” She chuckled to herself. “We grow up surrounded by mages, and it takes us going out into the world for her to decide she wants to learn magic.”

A puzzle piece slipped into place. “Baldur’s Gate? Were you up there about two years ago?” She nodded again. “Are you-? You’re _that_ Maera? You stopped Sarevok Anchev and the Iron Throne! If not for you, there would have been a war!”

She laughed quietly, a little embarrassed. “I guess that would have been big news down here in Amn, too, huh?”

“Especially in the circles I move in. The iron shortage was all anyone could talk about that summer.” He tried to cover his awe with a grin. “I knew there was something about you, but I didn’t know you were famous. May I have your autograph?”

She gave him a playful shove that nearly knocked him over. “There. Will that do?”

“Sure.” Her answering smile glowed in the fading moonlight, and the silence lengthened. “Tell me more about Imoen. I thought she was very brave, there on the Promenade.”

“She’s brave all right. But that was one of the dumber things she’s done. But then…” Her voice was troubled. “I was still too confused to even be angry. I just wanted to escape. But she could remember it – what had happened to us. I – I guess that’s why she did it.” She heaved a sigh. “Tell you about her? She’s absolutely obnoxious. She’s smarter than she should be, sneaky as hell, and a pain in my ass. But I wouldn’t change her for the world. She’s always been there, right behind me, even when I didn't want her to be. She was the one who found me the morning after Sarevok killed Gorion She helped me bury him. She was there every step of the way, and she always had faith in me. If she ever doubted me, she never let it show. Every time I was sure I couldn’t keep going, she was the one who told I could, and she...” Her words trailed off, her voice growing choked.

Her breathing was strained and labored, as if she was carrying something heavy and was about to lose her hold. Kelsey reached out in the dark and, though he’d been aiming for her shoulder, found his hand brushing her cheek. She didn’t flinch away, so he let it rest there for a second before withdrawing. Her cheek was smooth and cool and dry. “If you need to cry, it’s okay. I won’t think less of you.”

It seemed she had needed permission. He heard a ragged, tearful breath beside him, and he reached out again, found her shoulder this time, and felt her sag against his. “I don’t know how to do this without her!” she sobbed. “She should be here! And Khalid, and Dynaheir! Everything’s wrong and I can’t fix it!”

He gently rubbed her upper arm, letting her grieve. He realized that this was probably the first time she’d let herself cry over recent events, and he felt strangely privileged at being allowed to witness it. “Now wait…” he chided gently. “Not everything’s wrong. We’re going to help these people in the Hills, and that will help us find out where Imoen is. You _can_ still fix it.”

She sucked in a shuddering breath and sniffled. Wiping his robe, she said, “Gods, I am so sorry about that.”

“You don’t have to apologize for being human.”

“Still. Not exactly the impression I was hoping to make.” His curiosity was piqued. Trying to make an impression? Really? “I go from autograph requests to a sobbing mess in under five minutes."

“From what you’ve told me, it sounds like the past few weeks have been hard,” he offered, desperately wanting to keep her from feeling she’d lost face.

“That’s one way to put it. You’re right, though. I can’t despair.” She cleared her throat, and patted his damp shoulder sheepishly. “You know, you have a good shoulder for crying on.”

“I’ve never been told that before, but I’ll take the compliment in the spirit in which it was given.” Her smile was a bit watery, but it was a smile all the same, and he mentally patted himself on the back. “I’m sorry that you’ve lost friends, and for the awful things that have happened to you, but…I hope you can forgive me for being really glad you’ve come to Amn.”

“I can’t bring back the dead, and the lost can always be found. ‘Waste no time on that which might have been, lest ye ignore that which is,’” she quoted. She coughed self-consciously. “Sorry. Library brat. You grow up listening to Alaundo’s proverbs and these things just slip out.” He grinned. Smart girls are sexy, he thought, then immediately colored, thanking the gods he hadn’t just said that aloud.

Thankfully she didn’t seem to notice; the air paled with the approach of dawn, and Maera was looking to the horizon as she continued, “The sun will be up soon. And with it, Jaheira. Delon says we should get into Imnesvale an hour or so before sunset this evening. And then we can find out what’s going on.” She gave him a gentle nudge to the ribs with her elbow. “Come on, we should get the fire going so we can start breakfast.”

He would never be able to explain the impulse that overtook him in that instant, nor why he was actually daring enough to act on it. He leaned in, and gave her a peck on the cheek.

He steeled himself for a slap or stiff rebuke, but neither occurred. He watched in utter astonishment as a blush spread across her face. She touched her cheek, startled. “What was that for?”

He shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. “You looked like you needed it.”

She stepped away a few strides, still pink, then turned. “I did.” She hurried back towards the fire, and he sagged against a tree. Being smitten was kind of fun.

 

* * *

 

Maera kept trying not to look back in line at Kelsey as they continued to Imnesvale, because whenever she did, two things happened: she couldn’t help but smile at him, and her stomach was promptly filled with butterflies. It was ridiculous. She had braved monster-infested mines, battled bandit kings, explored haunted ruins, and defeated her own evil half-brother, thus averting a war, and somehow, one red-headed sorcerer was making her nervous. Her head turned, against her will, and her lips curved, also against her will. Kelsey wiggled the fingers of one hand at her, and mouthed, “Hi.”

It was completely ridiculous.

They turned off the highway at midday, and headed north along a much narrower and obviously rarely used turnpike. The sun was bright, but not too warm, the wind was fresh, and the air was rich with clover and honeysuckle. Birdcalls rang between the trees, and Maera thought to herself that this was the best part of adventuring. There were so many beautiful places yet to see in the world.

Delon had provided an excellent estimation of their travel time, because it was indeed an hour or so before sunset when they crested a hill and saw a small village nestled in the valley below them. It was really only a collection of buildings, a centralized location for supplies and socialization for the herders and farmers who lived on modest homesteads deeper in the Hills. But there were tents and ramshackle shelters set up in the dusty thoroughfare, and there was fear in the faces that watched them descend into the village.

“There’s Minister Lloyd’s,” Delon said, pointing out a modest cabin on their right that was probably the grandest structure in the Hills. “He’s the mayor here, and you should probably go talk to him.” The boy scuffed the ground, obviously realizing that his part in the adventure was ending.

Maera extended her hand, taking his forearm in an adventurer’s clasp. “You came all the way to Athkatla on your own to help your people. That was very brave, and I am very impressed. Thank you, Delon.” The boy’s eyes shone as he returned the clasp firmly, and as he walked down the thoroughfare to return to his home and family, he seemed a foot taller.

They made their way to the cabin Delon had showed them, and a knock on the door gained them instant access to a rustic, but pleasant, sitting room. Minister Lloyd was a large, nervous looking man, and his joy at seeing adventurers in his parlor was palpable. Maera struggled to keep a sober countenance he fussed over them. “Delon brought you? This is excellent, because things have only gotten worse since he left.” Minister Lloyd outlined the area’s troubles, with frequent interjections from his wife, Eina, a woman of equally generous proportions.

“First it started on the outlying farms, now it seems no one in a ten-mile radius is safe. The bodies are found with the skins inside out, gruesome business it is, but then they disappear the next day! The people are panicked - I’m sure you saw all the tents outside – no one feels safe on their own anymore. Just after Delon left for Athkatla, a party of adventurers led by the knight Mazzy Fentan came to help us, but we’ve heard nothing of them since then. And no one has seen our ranger, Merella, in over a week. As it stands, no one’s been willing to go out to her cabin to see if there’s any sign of her.”

“What do you think has killing your people, Minister?” Jaheira asked.

“Some have said they’ve seen wolves by night, big, black wolves, but there’s been no shortage of game, so why would they prey on people? And why would they come back for bodies? Some say the witch Umar herself has come back to harm us, though I don’t credit that.”

“It’s those ogres, husband,” Eina said firmly.

Lloyd deflated slightly. This was obviously ground they had gone over before. “There are ogres in the hills,” he said, “but I do not think they are the cause of our troubles. Please, my Lady Maera, go to our ranger’s cabin, and see if you can figure out what has happened to her. I am sure her disappearance and the deaths in the hills are linked!”

Maera nodded. “All right. We’ll set out in the morning, and let you know what course we will take from there.”

“Oh, thank you, my Lady! We will speak to you tomorrow, then!”

Minister Lloyd and Eina withdrew, and Maera opened the floor to discussion. “If the town’s ranger _and_ another adventuring group have gone missing, we need to be extra careful, Maera,” Kelsey said. “We don’t want to add ourselves to those statistics.”

“Are you sure this is the wisest course?” Yoshimo asked. “We came here in the hope gaining gold for Gaelan Bayle, but these people are poor farmers and herders! They have nothing to offer us.”

“I realize that, Yoshimo, but we still have the chance to help these people, which is important to me, at least. And it’s still possible there are coins in this situation and we just can’t see them yet. I’m not giving up on that, because raising that 20,000 gold is still my first priority.”

“Very well, fair friend,” the thief responded, his tone clearly unconvinced. Kelsey shot him a dirty look.

“At any rate, I understand there’s an inn here, with a bathhouse, and I am going to avail myself of its services while I can. You’re all free to do as you will, but remember, we are leaving for the ranger’s cabin at first light.”

The bathhouse was really only big enough to accommodate two bathers at any given time, so Maera was able to soak in solitude. Eyes closed, head tilted back, she lay in the tub, willing the tension to flow out of her tired shoulders. A knock at the door, and Jaheira’s voice, announced the druid’s entrance. She sat on the other side of the thin cloth partition.

“I hope I'm right about this, Jaheira.”

“Regarding?”

“What I said to Yoshimo. About being able to make some money off this. And I hate that I even have to think like that. These people need help whether they can afford it or not!”

“Of all the necessary evils of civilization, money is perhaps the least necessary.”

“You know, we _had_ money. I wonder what Irenicus did with it.”

Jaheira's voice tightened. “I do not care to think on what that man did else with anything of ours.”

Maera sighed, feeling the belated sting of the thought. “He really did steal a lot from us.”

“But not all.”

“No, not all.”

They were silent then, until Jaheira asked, “Have you had any more dreams?”

“Not since the last time we talked about it.”

“Good.” Jaheira cleared her throat. “And…this Kelsey. You have spoken to him much. What are your impressions?”

“Ooooh, I see.” Maera splashed in Jaheira's general direction. “I like him, Jaheira. He’s very easy to talk to – ”

“Obviously.”

Maera blew a raspberry. “He is! So what do you want to know about him, since you're in here talking to me instead asking him yourself?”

“You are being defensive.”

“You're being nosy.”

“Thankfully, despite our recent trials, not everything has changed.”

She could hear the soft smile in Jaheira's voice, and wondered why exactly she _was_ being defensive. “H e’d really rather be a merchant than an adventurer. But there's family trouble, and well...sorcery doesn't exactly ask for permission when manifests. He seems to have been tossed out onto the road against his will, honestly.”

“A bit like yourself, then.”

“I hadn’t thought it of it that way, but yeah, I guess so.”

“So you would say there is a connection there.”

“What are you implying, Jaheira?”

“I never imply, Maera. You should know that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Would you hand me a towel, please?” Jaheira complied, and Maera quickly dried off and wrapped the towel around herself. She stepped around the partition. “I think he could prove a valuable addition, and I have to admit, I’m interested in the concept of sorcery. I’ve been around mages all my life, but I’ve never met a sorcerer before.” She smiled a little to herself. “He's not what I expected. The way the Readers talked about sorcerers, you'd think they all fancied themselves dragons and went around with sheep's horns glued to their heads. But...Kelsey's just a regular guy.”

“And perhaps that makes him more attractive?”

“Jaheira!” Maera stood and started rifling through her clothes, turning in the hope her blush would be less noticeable. “Since when are you a match maker?”

“I am not making matches, I am simply gaining an understanding of your current state of mind. It is important to me.”

“Then you should know I’d never do anything without your counsel.”

“But there are some decisions you should, and will, make on your own.” Jaheira stood up. “I believe I shall bathe now.”

Maera dressed quickly and left Jaheira to her bath. Twilight was sinking heavily over the hills, and with last few days of short sleep catching up with her, she retired to her room and slept. Irenicus haunted her dreams, taunting her, but somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Jaheira in the morning.

 


	4. The Shadow Over Imnesvale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Boss, huh? She could handle that._

Merella the ranger had lived in a cabin on the other side of the ridge from Imnesvale. It was not an easy hike, and though Kelsey was far from soft (he'd done far too much traveling for that), he was winded by the time they reached the top. Maera, on the other hand, looked remarkably vital and alive that morning, her pale gold hair sparkling in the sun, and the fact she'd insisted on going ahead of him meant the view was both glorious and torturous. She _did_ realize those leather leggings could be the death of a man, didn't she?

No, she probably didn't. In a way, that just made it worse.

The view from the top of the ridge itself was spectacular. The Umar Hills spread before them, verdant and green, and a score of small streams and rivers flashed in the sunlight. Maera gazed off to the north, and her brow furrowed. The northern horizon seemed dark, as though storm clouds lurked over the hills, a black smudge that hung over the trees. "Jaheira?" she asked. "Are those clouds?"

Jaheira shaded her eyes with one hand, squinting. "I do not believe so. The wind is in the wrong direction, and it does not appear to be moving. We may wish to investigate."

The way down was much easier, and they made good time. The cabin itself was not large, but was sturdily built, despite being half overgrown with moss and vines. Within, the stillness was unnerving. It looked as if Merella had just stepped out for a few moments and would be back at any second. Dishes still sat on the table; a cloak lay still draped over a chair. A curled parchment on the floor caught Kelsey's eye; a quick scan of its contents proved enlightening.

"Maera! This is a letter from that adventurer the mayor mentioned last night, Mazzy Fentan. Listen to this: 'Our investigations lead me to conclude that the sightings of wolf-like creatures in conjunction with these attacks are not merely the product of over-active imaginations. But I cannot help but feel that there is some greater force at work here, and as such, in the morning my company and I will embark on a thorough search of the ruins to the north in an effort to exhaust all possibilities.'"

"The north?" Jaheira repeated, exchanging a significant look with Maera. "Interesting indeed."

"Fair friend," Yoshimo hailed Maera from the door to the bedchamber. On the floor before the bed was a broad smear of dried blood, and in it, large, lupine tracks. "I believe we now know what happened to Merella."

"Mazzy Fentan's suppositions are correct," Jaheira said. " _This_ is certainly not the work of predators." Minsc, kneeling to examine the tracks, nodded his agreement emphatically.

They gathered for a conference in the grass outside the cabin. "I think this Mazzy was on the right track," Maera said. "I hate to lose an entire day, but we should head back to Imnesvale, inform the mayor of our findings, and set out for these ruins in the morning. Maybe I'm being overly cautious, but there's something about that darkness to the north that makes me think it would be a bad idea to be there at night." She looked around. "Are we agreed?" Heads nodded in assent, and they returned to Imnesvale with their new intelligence.

* * *

There was a small stable yard to the side of the inn, which was really more for the innkeeper's horses than anything else. But there was enough flat, open space that Maera felt she could get some good practice. She waited until the sun was low, staining the sky pink orange. She stretched, rolling her neck and shoulders, then relaxed, concentrating. Gorion may not have been able to teach her magic, but he had succeeded in teaching her the self-awareness and control of a battle mage. She was her own weapon. And just as she did every time, when she drew her sword, she saluted his memory - fallen teacher, mentor, father. She owed him everything. It seemed more and more important lately to remember that.

She moved through the first figure. High block, low parry, overhead swing. And the second, and the third. _"Watch your feet, girl!"_ She could still hear the Gatewarden's voice. _"Gorion says you want to learn swordplay, you'd better prove it!"_ And she'd gritted her teeth, belligerent as only a sixteen year old could be, and proved it. Most of the scars on her hands came from those days. She was proudest of her slightly crooked right index finger; she had blocked Hull's first strike poorly and the finger had broken, but she had still beaten him in the end. She spun on her left foot, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of something blue. Kelsey's robes. She skidded to a stop. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to be impressed." His face was a mask of innocence. "I don't recognize your style."

"I don't really have one," she shrugged, sheathing her sword. "I've just learned whatever I could, and kept what worked for me." She spotted a couple of staffs leaning against the wall of the stable, and indicated them with a tilt of her head. "Wanna spar?" She was gratified to see him go a little pale.

"You could probably kill me with one blow."

"Well…maybe. But that's not the point of sparring, now is it?"

Kelsey had a very expressive face, and she amused herself trying to identify the various emotions - nervousness, a little horror, and a certain masculine pride - that danced across it. Finally, he grabbed one of the staffs and tossed it to her, which she caught one handed, and took the other for himself. "Be nice."

She couldn't help but grin. "Naturally." She made the first blow, lashing out and up, but she was pleased to see that she didn't catch him off guard. They circled each other, testing defenses, and she soon discovered he had better reflexes than she'd given him credit for. She made sure to pull her blows, however; she knew good and well that she was stronger than he. He surprised her with a flurry of strong offensives, but he didn't have a good enough grip, and she exploited the weakness by knocking the staff from his hands and bringing the butt end of her own staff to his throat.

"Big surprise," he panted, smiling, "the warrior woman wins." And simply for the fun of it, she tossed aside her staff and tackled him, knocking him to the dirt. He laughed helplessly. "Help! Abuse!" Any attempt at wrestling quickly devolved into tickling, and she found herself on top of him, holding his wrists. Their eyes met, and it suddenly seemed like an uncommonly good idea to lean down and kiss him. Something in his face told her he was thinking roughly the same thing, and she could not roll to her feet fast enough.

"I'm sorry…I got carried away, I shouldn't have…"

"No, Maera…" He got to his feet and dusted himself off. "It's okay. Really."

She smiled weakly, and fled back to her room.

What was going on here? She was supposed to be the sensible one! Maera, the cool and collected. The untouchable. The one apt to brush off even the courtliest pass, and break teeth for a boorish one. And there she was, wondering what it would be like to kiss the new guy. What was wrong with her?

She already knew the answer to that.

The truth of the matter was that she really hadn't _done_ this sort of thing before. There'd been Dreppin back in Candlekeep, yes, but she'd been fifteen, and that had been far more about hormones than any sort of real personal connection. Unbidden, Ajantis's face rose in her memory, and she cringed inwardly at the fool she'd been then. Gods, she'd tried so hard to get his attention, but the young paladin had been far more interested in Helm then her.

But she could talk to Kelsey. Being around him was...fun. And when she thought about the fact he'd seen her cry, she found it didn't bother her. Instead of the embarrassment she thought she'd feel, all she could find inside herself on that count was a strange sort of gratitude. She was glad he'd given her the chance to ease the fist she'd been keeping clenched around her heart. As much as she hated to admit it, Jaheira was right. There was a connection there. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on, but very real nonetheless.

Just when things couldn't get any more complicated.

* * *

The next day dawned crisp and bright, and initially the going was very easy. But as the day wore on, the sunlight seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer. The woods around Imnesvale teemed with all manner of birds and wildlife, but the farther north they journeyed, the quieter their surroundings become. Finally, Maera had Minsc light a torch, despite the fact it was only midday.

Kelsey shivered. "At times like this, I really wish I knew how to cast Infravision," he muttered.

"It wouldn't matter," Maera said softly. The gloom discouraged even a normal speaking voice. "If these things are what I'm starting to suspect they are, it wouldn't do any good."

The darkness deepened, like a bank of the heaviest cloud hanging over the land. Soon everyone was carrying a torch. They broke into a clearing, and there stood a wolf-like creature on its hind legs, holding the corpse of a man in its forepaws, and preparing to feed. "Werewolf!" Minsc cried, and drew his sword. The creature shuddered, growled, and in its place stood a ragged, unkempt woman with long, matted hair.

"Stay where you are!" she cried. "I have waited too long for my revenge; I will not be denied it now!"

"I'm not denying anybody anything," Maera said, holding up her hands. "What are you talking about?"

"Revenge for my pack! This land was not always like this, cursed with this unholy darkness! This is the work of the Shade Lord, and I will repay him for what he has done!"

"The Shade Lord?"

"A creature of terrible, black power," the werewolf said. Her yellow eyes narrowed. Had she still been in her wolf form, her ears would have flattened against her skull. "He killed my pack, all my beautiful children, every one! And now he uses their bodies to do his bidding. Even in death, they cannot rest. They cannot lay down and return to the earth." She gave a small, mournful howl. Pity stirred in Maera's chest, and to her right, she saw righteous anger coloring Jaheira's features.

"What's your name?" Maera asked gently.

"My name is Anath. This ground has been the territory of my pack for many years. There is an old temple here, the ruins of a place where a god of the sun was once worshiped. It is so old the god is dead and the temple is gone, save for what was under ground. That is where the Shade Lord holds court; that is where he keeps his army of shadows. It lies to the east of here." Anath gave Maera a long, calculating look. "You may come with me, if you seek vengeance as well."

"I don't seek vengeance, but I do seek to stop him, if he is truly the cause of all this trouble." Maera turned to the group, hoping the shiver that raced down her spine was not visible. "Desecrating the temple of a sun god. Oghma's books." She exhaled, and drew her sword. "Minsc, take the rear. Yoshimo, keep your eyes sharp. I'm counting on you to keep us from getting flanked. Kelsey, we're dealing with shadows, so fire is going to be our friend."

He nodded. "Got it, boss." She gave him a hard look for a moment, but there'd been no mockery in his use of the honorific. Boss, huh? She could handle that.

She simply looked at Jaheira and nodded. They stayed close, and followed the werewolf deeper into the perverse darkness.

* * *

Anath was true to her word, leading them to what had probably once been a broad courtyard. In the trees, Maera could hear the rattle of branches, and a nerve-wracking whispering and clicking, just low enough for her to wonder if she were truly hearing it or if it was imaginary. Red eyes seemed to peer behind the dead limbs, only to vanish the instant she tried to focus on them. As they climbed the shallow steps, the shadows burst forth, their hazy forms blending with the unnatural dark. But they were very solid indeed when they struck. At least two hit Maera hard, chest and knees, and she could not keep her balance against the momentum. As she fell, she saw Anath, in her wolf form once more, but the press of shadows around her almost obscured her from view. The shadows tore at the werewolf, and what fur was visible was bloody. Anath howled; the sound was cut suddenly, brutally short.

Maera had no intention of being next. She had not lost her grip on her sword, at least, and she swung in a wild arc to afford herself breathing space. She heard Minsc bellow her name, and the shrieks that rose up in his direction made it clear he was fighting his way to her. Icy claws scraped at her, chilling her to the bone, and she kicked and slashed and was almost to her feet again when she heard Kelsey shout, "Stay down!"

A dull roar passed over her head, and her nostrils were assailed by the stench of charred shadows as the fireball exploded. She regained her stance and whirled about, her sword cutting an arc through the shadows that hissed before her. She turned her head to take stock of Kelsey's position, and she saw more fire form on the palm of his outstretched hand. For an instant, she was mesmerized; it wasn't like watching Dynaheir or Imoen cast at all. There were no careful, precise arcane gestures; it was almost organic, in a way, as if he were pulling the fire from the very air around him. She could swear it was breathing in time with him. It was quite possibly the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

"Maera!" Yoshimo called. "We must descend!" The party raced for the stairs, the last of the shadows wailing in agony as Kelsey set them aflame.

She leaned against the wall to catch her breath. Now that the first surge of adrenaline had worn off, she could feel the sting of the wounds on her exposed skin, deep scratches across her face and neck. She wiped the blood from her eyes and looked about as Minsc and Yoshimo lit fresh torches. "They got Anath, didn't they?" Jaheira nodded soberly and handed her a healing potion. She took a long swig before stoppering the bottle and stowing it in a belt pouch. "Well. Now for the fun part."

The lower level had once been a training area, it seemed, and likely there had been cells for the priests. Now the floors were uneven and the corridors half-blocked with crumbled stonework, and all around the shadows seemed to have eyes. Yoshimo scouted ahead, almost invisible himself in the dark. They came to a closed door, and he put his ear to it, eyes narrowed. "There are at least two on the other side. We must be prepared."

Maera pointed to herself and Minsc. "We'll go first. There's no way to sneak, so we may as well get their attention. Minsc, kick it down."

Minsc positively glowed at the chance. His enormous chest swelled as he roared a battle cry and kicked the door into splinters. "BUTTKICKING FOR GOODNESS!"

The pair of shadows on the other side never had a chance. Minsc and Maera had them dispatched before the others even came through the doorframe. Something glinted on the floor, a key, dropped by a dead shadow. As if in answer to the unanswered question of which door it belonged to, there came a pounding on the door to their right, from the inside. "Who's there?" cried a muffled voice.

Maera unlocked the door, and the flickering light of Kelsey's torch revealed a halfling woman. Her face was grimy and her shock of auburn hair was matted, but her bearing was proud. "Hail, friends. That is to say, I hope you are friends. At the very least, I see you are not shadows."

"No, we're here on behalf of the people of Imnesvale. May I ask who you are?"

"I am Mazzy Fentan, and I am a servant of justice and righteousness." The look on the halfling's face made it apparent she was ready to defend herself from any misplaced guffaw or chuckle at her expense.

Maera had no intention of doing either. "So you're the famous Mazzy Fentan. We came here on the strength of your letter to Merella. What happened to your party?"

Mazzy's face fell. "The Shade Lord defeated us. He is a powerful creature, and works on the mind. He killed my companions and now uses their bodies as his servants. He must possess a living body, himself, but his unnatural state slays the host before long. He called me his 'consort', but I believe he intends me for his next host, when the one he has wears out!" She shuddered. "As you can see, it is an ugly business."

"What do you know about this place?"

"Only that it was a temple of the god Amaunator in ancient days. I believe he was supplanted by your Lathander – I'm afraid I'm not as familiar with the human pantheon as I should be." Her expression became thoughtful. "I was…confused at the time I was brought to this cell, but I believe we must go through this complex to reach the altar the Shade Lord has perverted for himself. That is…if you would allow me to accompany you. I very much desire to see the Shade Lord brought low." Taking Maera's pause for doubt, the halfling brought up her chin. "I am more than capable of handling myself. I am a knight, a Truesword in the service of Arvoreen the Defender, and I can be of use to you!"

Maera hadn't needed winning over, but she was impressed all the same. "I don't doubt that, Lady Knight. We should get moving."

Mazzy's gear had been tossed unceremoniously in a dank corner of the room, and she clucked her tongue at the condition of her mail shirt as she pulled it over her head. But her small sword gleamed in the torchlight as if it had been freshly sharpened and oiled; when Yoshimo commented on it, the halfling smiled grimly and said, "This blade was a gift of my god. Not even these abominations can do it harm."

They pressed on through the dank, shadow-choked rooms. Maera had gained more than a passing acquaintance with dark, underground places in her brief adventuring career, but experience failed to make them more enjoyable. Once there had been open skylights to allow the sun to pour in on the faithful of Amaunator, but now they were collapsed, filling the corridors with rubble. Holy runes had been carved onto the walls, but they had been defiled with crude scratchings. She shivered as they passed a defaced frieze. Maybe it was her own strange link to the divine, but such sights always made her queasy.

The rubble and detritus in the corridors caused their path to twist at odd angles, and more than once, they had to quietly deal with small groups of shadows in both wolf and man form. It was rough, cautious going through the warren, and several times Minsc only barely fit through the gaps that afforded them passage. He looked infinitely relieved when they came upon a large, round chamber, where a rough-hewn crystal glowed dimly on a plinth before them. "I remember this place," Mazzy said softly. "We should go this way," She indicated the doorway to their right. "This passage leads to the altar, I believe."

But before they had gone twenty feet, they found they could progress no further. The darkness was so profound as to be impenetrable. Maera reached out, only to touch something cold and solid. The chill stung even through her gauntlet. She glanced at the halfling. "Are you sure, Mazzy?"

Doubt crept over Mazzy's face. "I…"

"I have an idea," Kelsey announced to no one in particular, and suddenly turned and headed back into the round chamber.

"Kelsey!" Maera hissed. He came jogging back with the crystal from the plinth in his hand. She grabbed the shoulder of his robes, and gave him a brief, disciplinary shake. "Don't DO that!"

He looked appropriately crestfallen. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking. Let me see if I'm right, though." He thrust the crystal at the shadowy barrier, and with a faint crystalline twinkle, the barrier disappeared.

"Excellent thinking, my friend!" Mazzy crowed. "Let us onward. We may yet see the end of this."

Amaunator's altar had likely once been a thing of great beauty. A figure of the god, arms stretched to cradle the faithful, was crowned with a golden sunburst. Now it crouched under the pall of darkness, corroded and blackened, the rays of the sunburst twisted and broken. Its degraded state struck Maera to the heart as the group climbed the steps out of the temple's underground and up the altar platform. A dark figure stood before the ruined statue, its outlines oddly fuzzy, as if its being could not quite fit in the form it inhabited. Other shadows chittered and hissed around them.

"So, my dear knight miniature has escaped. A pity. But now you bring new friends to join us… That's very considerate of you."

"Fiend!" Mazzy spat. "I will destroy you!"

"It isn't so bad, Mazzy," whispered a shade. "You can still join us."

The small knight started, her face going pale and her eyes widening with horror. "Patrick? Oh, Patrick, what has he done to you?"

"Only what I always do, dear Lady Knight. Expand my family." Suddenly it seemed to Maera to be an awfully good idea to put down her sword, sink to her knees, and just rest…it had been such a long day…such a long week…rest would be so nice, and all this fighting was really pointless…

"NO!" She was snapped back into reality by Mazzy's fierce, ragged cry. "I will not let you do this! Not again! Arvoreen! I strike in your name!" She flew at the Shade Lord, a three and a half foot tall streak of pure righteous fury. Kelsey seemed to have regained his wits as well, because she heard three shadows in front of her suddenly shriek as arrows of pure flame embedded in their nebulous bodies. Jaheira had rushed to Mazzy's aid, but none of their blows seemed to be doing any damage. Maera watched their futile struggle for a moment, and then it came to her. It was the altar. The Shade Lord had drawn his power from polluting something holy. It was worth a shot.

She scrambled up the base of the sunburst statue, and drove her blade into the metal altar with all her strength. The screech of pain from the Shade Lord drowned out the squeal of rent metal, and was proof enough that it had worked. She leapt down to help Jaheira and Mazzy finish the creature off. Jaheira knocked its feet from beneath it, and Mazzy, her face gone cold as an executioner's, plunged her sword through the Shade Lord's chest.

The remaining shadows wailed and hissed as the air grew lighter. It was like watching a sunrise at double speed, and within moments, the Shade Lord's darkness had fled. Mazzy gazed down at the body that had been the Shade Lord. The cloak of shadows gone, they could recognize it for what it was - a woman in hunter's leathers, her dark hair pulled into a simple braid. "Poor Merella," Mazzy said softly. "Even you."

They stood on the altar platform in reflective silence, all save Yoshimo, who poked about the base of the altar with a bit of scavenged metal. There was a sudden crunch, and the thief whistled quietly. "Fair Maera," he said, bowing gracefully in her direction, "I shall hereafter defer to your wisdom in all things."

"What are you taking about, Yo-" She didn't bother finishing her sentence. In his explorations, Yoshimo had opened a small hollow in the stone base of the altar that contained a pile of sapphires, diamonds, and an assortment of other stones.

"There were indeed coins here that we could not see," Yoshimo laughed.

* * *

They remained at the altar that evening. Minsc insisted on building a pyre for Merella's body, so her ashes might remain with nature, and Mazzy declared that Patrick and her other fallen companions should have a similar end. The sun slipped towards the horizon, and in the distance, a wood dove tentatively began to coo, as if unsure the darkness was truly gone. Mazzy stood apart from the others, watching the pyre burn, and though Maera was loathe to intrude on the halfling's vigil, she felt drawn nonetheless.

"It's hard to lose companions. People you've traveled with. People you've trusted your life to. For what it's worth, Mazzy, I'm sorry that you have."

Mazzy did not immediately reply, and Maera prepared to withdraw. "I thank you," she said finally. She looked up at Maera, and though her face was composed, her eyes glistened. "I take it you speak from experience?"

"Yeah."

"Tell me. Does it get better?"

"I don't know yet," Maera replied honestly. "I'll let you know when I find out."

The journey back to Imnesvale was far easier and much more jovial than the previous trip. Minsc and Yoshimo extolled Boo's bravery in the fight with the Shade Lord, Mazzy told Jaheira of the druid grove that was located near her hometown of Trademeet, and Kelsey and Maera walked shoulder to shoulder, arms brushing occasionally. They were both trying to act as if they didn't notice.

All of Imnesvale was waiting for them when they returned. Apparently Delon had been watching for their approach and alerted the mayor, and in the end, the whole town, tent-dwellers and all, had turned out. Maera acquainted them with the source of their troubles, and gave a brief summary of how they had defeated it. She told them of Merella's fate, and Mazzy's role in the Shade Lord's downfall, and Minister Lloyd offered her a small sack of coins and a wrapped package. "We cannot offer much gold, my Lady, but we gladly give you this. The package contains a leather armor that has been in my family for generations. It is enchanted, and I hope it will serve you well." Someone in the crowd whooped, and applause soon swept through the assembly.

There was cheering, there was toasting, and what had begun as a quiet ceremony ended a raucous party involving a bonfire on the village green and several very large casks of ale. Maera sought solitude behind the inn, and she was fairly certain that the rest of the party had dispersed as well, but at that point, the celebration really didn't need them.

"This seems like a good hiding place."

She started. "Kelsey! How did you do that?"

"Magic. Kidding! I don't really know how to do spells like that." He sat in the dirt beside her and handed her a mug. "Thirsty?"

"Definitely." She smiled and took a drink. They brewed a good ale in the Hills.

"So, is this what always happens after doing heroic things?"

"Well, there was a pretty big party in Baldur's Gate after we beat Sarevok, but that was mainly Duke Eltan's doing. I think the majority of the people had no idea what was going on until long after it was over. And things like that never seem so threatening when you find out about them after the fact." She stared up at the sky. "It's funny. I really don't think of what we do as heroic. I mean, I guess it is, but that's not _why_ I do it. It's just…what I do. It's the only thing I can do, because the alternative…" She drew her knees up to her chest, and set her mug on the ground. "The alternative really isn't an option. I could hurt so many people, so easily, and no one could stop me." She shook her head. "No, that's not an option."

"I know how you feel," he said, staring into his mug. "It seems like the only magic I can cast is designed to hurt people. What does that say about me? Does it mean that, underneath it all, that's what I want?"

She looked at him with surprise. "I don't think so. Nobody really understands sorcery or how it works, Kelsey. It's one of those mysteries of the planes. But I don't think the magic you can use is necessarily a reflection of your personality."

He absently drew circles in the dirt with a fingertip. "I guess there's still that part of me that wishes it would just go away."

She put her hand over his, stopping him mid-circle. "It won't. I've learned the hard way that you can't change what you are. It's something you were born with. It's a part of you. You're a sorcerer, Kelsey. Be one. That you have this power is not your decision. Only how you use it."

He opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it, and nodded thoughtfully. They fell into silence, and both propped their heads against the inn wall, looking up at the stars. She left her hand on top of his. He didn't seem to mind. The villagers of Imnesvale were still celebrating, but it was pleasantly quiet in their hiding place. "I'm about to ask you a very personal question, Maera, and if you don't want to answer it, I will completely understand."

"Oookay…"

"Do you remember the first time you killed someone?"

"Better than a lot of much more pleasant memories." She sighed softly. "The day Gorion and I left Candlekeep, there was a man in the visitor barracks with a knife. I had to wrestle it away from him, bash his head into a table, and gut him with his own dagger. That was when I understood why we were leaving. Candlekeep had always been safe. But it wasn't anymore. Not for me." She took a long, steadying drink from her mug. "I've gotten used to what it feels like to make a killing blow, but I will never forget how hard I had to push that knife into him. Not as long as I live." She looked at him. "What about you?"

"I was at one of my family's shops in Westgate, and two bandits walked in. Broad daylight. There were no guards, just me and some customers. I'd just learned I could make acid arrows, and without thinking, I fired one at the closest bandit. It caught him in the throat. I can't begin to describe the noises he made. It was…horrifying. And the look on the other one's face…he looked at me like I was some kind of monster. Afterwards, when it hit me – what I'd done - I was hysterical. I wanted to kill myself. I thought he was right. I was a monster. I had to be."

"Ugh." Her lips curled in pained sympathy. "That's awful. But, it may not have been pretty, or clean, but you were protecting people. People who probably couldn't have defended themselves otherwise. That's not monstrous, Kelsey. That's…responsible."

He turned his head to meet her eyes, as if seeing something he hadn't before. "Thank you." The gaze held; Maera had never known just how much one could see, simply looking into another's eyes. She felt a twinge of something almost like regret when he finally looked away.

The night was growing chilly, and it felt good to sit close, together. Her head drooped drowsily, coming to rest against his shoulder, and she decided (after an instant of something that felt suspiciously like panic) to leave it there and let him be the one to move. He shifted slightly, and she prepared herself for disappointment, but then she felt a light pressure on the crown of her head. It took her a moment to realize it was his cheek, resting against her hair. She let her eyes close. She could get used to this. "It's funny," he said, "that we seem to have so much in common, in some ways. I like that - ever since I started casting, I haven't really felt like I had much in common with anyone."

Maera smiled. "I guess us weirdos have to stick together."

"You're not weird," he chuckled.

"Weirder than you think." And though she tried to fight it off, she yawned, and tried to hide behind her hand.

"Uh oh," Kelsey said. "Looks like we need to get you to bed."

He stood, and she let him pull her to her feet. She stifled another yawn, and said, "Mazzy asked me earlier if we would like to accompany her to Trademeet. That's where she's from, apparently. I told her I'd think about it."

"That actually wouldn't be a bad idea," Kelsey remarked. "Trademeet sits on the junction of four major caravan routes. We'd probably get a much better price on those gems Yoshimo found there than in Athkatla."

"You, sir," Maera said as they made their way into the inn, "are a fount of useful information."

"I try."

* * *

Kelsey woke early the next morning. The thoroughfare was surprisingly busy, given the party the night before, but the people of the Hills were in a hurry to return to their homes, and the tents and shanties were coming down at a remarkable pace. Maera emerged from her room, and something about her looked different. Gone were the battered beigey tan leathers he's grown accustomed to. She was dressed in dark brown, almost the color of her eyes – jerkin, leggings, and corselet, which clung to her curves in a truly unfair fashion. Involuntarily, he let out a slow whistle of approval. She whirled about like a débutante in a silk gown, grinning. "Is that the armor the mayor gave you?" he asked.

"Isn't it gorgeous?" she enthused.

He couldn't tear his eyes away. "Yes, it is."


	5. When Druids Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She was terrifying. And amazing._

They set out for Trademeet by mid-morning, Mazzy taking the point. It promised to be an easy trip, and Maera decided to use the time to get to know the halfling a bit better.

"It is a pleasant enough town," Mazzy said, "though a trifle more materialistic than is my bent. But I suppose that is to be expected, considering its origins." Maera's questioning look prompted her to elaborate. "They say it was founded by Waukeen herself, for the purpose of fair commerce."

"No wonder Kelsey likes it," Maera chuckled.

"Most of the merchant persuasion do," Mazzy replied, then said, almost to herself, "I never thought my next trip home would be alone." She looked self-conscious, clearing her throat as she continued, "I mean…not _truly_ alone. Obviously, I am glad for the company of your party, but…"

Maera nodded in understanding. "How long were you with yours?"

"Five seasons."

"That's not a bad run."

"No, not at all." Mazzy gazed up at the sky; wispy mares' tail clouds streaked the vivid blue. "It is strange, how we may know something and yet never believe it. It is a dangerous profession we have chosen, but we always manage to overlook its hazards until they stare us in the face." Maera nodded, trying not to see Khalid out of the corner of her eye. He'd always walked to her left.

They were two nights on the road, and between the fine spring weather and the good roads, they made excellent time. But as they progressed, both Mazzy and Kelsey seemed concerned. The roads were almost deserted; they could go miles without seeing another traveler. "This is not right," Mazzy said on the third morning. "I have never seen the roads so empty, especially not this time of year."

Kelsey looked vaguely unnerved as he nodded. "This is caravan season. We should not be the only people out here."

The brush beside the road rustled, and a brown bear burst forth, roaring. Minsc's attempts to sooth the creature with soft growls and an unthreatening stance only seemed to make it angrier. It swiped a heavy paw at him, its claws screeching on his breastplate. Confusion suffused the ranger's broad face, and he looked almost sad as he drew his sword and split the bear's head in two. "It would not listen!" he said mournfully. "Why was it so mad?"

They had to dispatch three wolves and another bear before they reached the gates of Trademeet, which sagged under the weight of a curtain of vines, each thick as one of Minsc's wrists. An untidy pile of animal corpses, topped with the curled remains of a spider the size of a small horse, dominated what should have been a rather pretty common just within the gate. The pair of guards on duty, their mail stained with blood and ichor, brightened visibly at the approach of armed visitors.

"Mazzy?" asked one. "Mazzy Fentan? Thank Waukeen, it's good to see you again."

"Sorry we didn't clean up the place before you got back," added the other dryly.

"Furlan…Casterly…" Mazzy stared about, looking lost. "What is going on here?"

"The druids have turned on us!" Furlan grumbled sourly. "Animal attacks, vermin everywhere, plants springing up if there's even a handful of dirt… It's madness, plain and simple."

"But we have always had peaceful relations with the druids of the grove! What has happened to change this?"

"I don't know," Casterly said darkly. "You should talk to Lord Coprith about that."

"A grove of druids would not simply turn on a town for no reason." Jaheira said as they walked up the street. Weeds poked defiantly between every cobblestone. "The balance must have been disturbed in some way for them to feel the need to do something like this."

"I honestly can't see the people of Trademeet knowingly upsetting the druids like that." Kelsey replied. "Disrupting a deal like the one they had with the druids would be bad for business. Well, it _is_ bad for business. I've never seen this town so dead."

Storefronts were closed, some boarded up, and tent kiosks were empty. The streets were virtually empty, despite the fact it was afternoon on a fine sunny day. "I believe the first order of business should be to seek out the person who will know the most about recent events," Mazzy said firmly.

"Lord Coprith?" Kelsey asked.

Mazzy shook her head. "My mother."

 

* * *

 

There could be no doubt that Vara Fentan was Mazzy's mother. She was poised, mannerly, and proved herself quite knowledgeable of the comings and goings of town. When they arrived, she surveyed her daughter's companions with some surprise, then understanding entered her eyes, and the questions were filed away for later. "I do hope you don't mind taking our tea out here," she said as they settled themselves on the spacious porch of the Fentan home. "It is such a lovely day, and I'm afraid the parlor is a bit small for all of us."

"Out here is fine," Maera said, taking a sip. It was delightful, of course. Vara had probably been born knowing how to make a perfect cup of tea.

"I expect you're curious about our situation," Vara said, still pouring. "It's all very strange. It started almost a month ago – little things at first. More rabbits than usual, children spotting a badger in their back garden, wolf howls that seemed awfully close to town, that sort of thing. But then they got bolder, and larger, and before you know it, there are snakes big enough to eat a horse slithering through the streets! The caravans have all stopped. We're lucky to get food into town these days, let alone trade goods. They say the guards have seen figures among the animals during the attacks, and I've heard just this morning that a druid was actually captured during the night, but he's apparently being held at Lord Coprith's, and there's been no other word." She looked at Maera apologetically. "Please do not be offended that I cannot offer you beds here, but…"

"That is perfectly understandable, Mistress Fentan, and we are not at all offended," Maera said. "I think we should talk to Lord Coprith soon."

"Indeed," said Jaheira, her expression dark. "I, for one, am most curious to know why this is happening."

They finished their tea, and withdrew from the porch to allow Mazzy a moment to speak to her mother. Vara embraced her daughter fiercely, and Mazzy descended the steps wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, her expression daring anyone to make an issue of it. No one saw any reason to.

She led the way to the mayor's home, a stately building on the edge of the town common, and they were immediately granted entry to a fine, formal study. Lord Logan Coprith entered a moment later, and rather than the berobed merchant Maera was expecting, he was a fit, middle-aged man dressed in well-worn armor. "Mazzy Fentan!" he greeted the knight with a firm arm clasp. "And Kelsey Coltrane?"

"I'm not really here in a business capacity today, Logan," Kelsey said, looking slightly self-conscious.

"I have traveled home with Maera," Mazzy said. "And I find it overrun! What has happened here, my lord? What has occurred for the druids to turn on Trademeet?

Coprith sat his desk, looking apologetic. "We do not know. Last evening, a druid was captured outside the walls by the guard. He claims to have been sent to investigate these happenings, and I want to believe him, but the townspeople want blood. He would seem a perfect scapegoat, but I have no stomach for that sort of thing. Besides, if he's telling the truth, using him for revenge will only make things worse. But there's no reasoning with people whose lives have been disrupted like this." He shot Maera a quick look. "Your timing is really impeccable, you know. I was still trying to figure out how I would handle this, but now I think you've presented me with a solution. I feel that our…guest is honest, and that he's our best hope for putting a stop to this. If you feel that he is as well, would you be willing to help him?"

Maera nodded. "Where is he?"

"I've actually had him in the cellar," Coprith said ruefully. "I was afraid to put him in the town jail; he might have been pulled out and lynched in the night."

"Can we meet him?"

"Of course. Follow me." They trailed after him, down a flight of steps and into the house's cellar. Coprith knocked on door at the foot of stairs before unlocking it. "Cernd, it's Logan Coprith. I've brought some adventurers who may be able to help you." He opened the door, and gestured them in.

Coprith's cellar was actually rather nice – well lit, dry, and appointed with a few sturdy tables and benches. Seated at one was a dark-haired man who rose as they entered. "Greetings. I am Cernd. I trust Lord Coprith has informed you of my purpose?"

Maera stepped forward and introduced herself. "He has. He says you were sent to investigate. So what's happening here is not the result of the town disturbing the balance?"

Cernd spread his hands. "There has been no alteration of the balance that I can see. Therefore, I fear the fault lies with the druids, and I must discover why."

"Excuse us," Maera said, and with a hand gesture, called a conference. She looked at her gathered companions. "Well?" Heads nodded, even Yoshimo's. She supposed he was seeing the financial benefits. The huddle broke. "All right, we'll help. Let's work out the details."

They would slip out town under cover of darkness, for Cernd's safety, and he would lead the way to the grove. Hopefully, answers would be forthcoming from there. They retired to the nearby inn to rest and rejuvenate a bit before nightfall.

Maera sat with Minsc and Jaheira that evening, and Kelsey watched from a nearby table, parsing the relationships before him. They were a society of survivors; three people who seemed so different, but were yet so close. Minsc was as big in personality as he was in frame, and his exact level of insanity seemed to fluctuate anywhere from slightly dotty to potentially dangerous, but Maera didn't bat an eye at even his wildest pronouncements. He was speaking to her, waving a finger to emphasis his point, and she smiled fondly and seized the passing digit in her fist. They played a brief tug of war for it, until he freed himself with a laugh of triumph. Jaheira watched them with what looked like exasperated affection, but Kelsey didn't dare be too definitive regarding her moods. The druid wore her inscrutability like a suit of armor. Everything about her said 'Tread lightly,' so Kelsey did. She stood, and said something to Maera, who inclined her head deferentially as the druid withdrew. For all that Maera was leader of the group, her respect for and reliance on Jaheira was obvious. She hadn't talked much about that. He wondered what the story was.

"Ah yes," said an unctuous, lightly accented voice behind him, "the venerable art of observation." Kelsey glanced up as Yoshimo seated himself without invitation, a cup of wine held loosely in one hand. "A necessary skill for the merchant, as well as the thief."

"I personally don't draw many comparisons between the two," Kelsey said, a bit stiffly.

The thief's smile seemed to slide slightly, turning into something that was almost, but not quite, a smirk. "Of course you would not." He motioned towards the other table. "They do make an interesting study."

"They've been together for a while now. And they've been through a lot."

"Time can form strong bonds," Yoshimo agreed. "As can loss." His eyes cut towards Kelsey slyly. "And our young leader. A formidable and fascinating woman, yes?"

Kelsey wasn't sure he liked the thief's tone. "She is." His gaze was drawn back towards her. Minsc had departed, and Maera sat alone with her chin on the heel of her hand, chewing thoughtfully on the tip of her little finger, her dinner ignored. He tried not to stare.

Too late. The almost-smirk was veering rapidly towards actuality. "Yes, she is fascinating indeed," Yoshimo said, draining his wine and standing. "But fear not. I pose no threat to your ambitions."

"My ambit-" Kelsey cut the question off midway. Was he really that transparent? Yoshimo chuckled amiably as he sauntered off, leaving Kelsey to stew in unaccountable embarrassment. But then he thought, somewhat belligerently, that if his interest in Maera's company was already a matter of note, there was no good reason not to sit with her.

Insinuate _that_ , Yoshimo.

Maera was still ignoring the rapidly cooling plate in front of her. "You should eat, you know," Kelsey said, sitting down across from her. Her focus snapped back to the here and now, and she smiled at him wryly.

"Self-appointed guardian of my welfare now, huh?"

"Hey, somebody has to be."

"Well, who's yours?" she challenged.

He gave a smiling shrug. "No one's appointed themselves yet."

"Maybe I should." She rested her elbows on the table, and her chin on her folded hands, shooting him another of those brilliant smiles.

"I'd like that."

She ducked her head, half-hiding her face behind her hands, still smiling. "And while I'm appointing myself to things, I think I'll name myself Queen of Sembia." He laughed as she shook her head. "On second thought, no. I'm terrible at accepting homage, and I don't think I'd look good in a crown."

"If you say so. I don't think you could ever look bad." Feeling bold, he reached across the table to tuck a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. Her eyes closed briefly as his fingertips brushed her ear. She'd enjoyed that. He swallowed, and hastily redirected the conversation towards the professional. "We have a long night ahead of us. It won't do you any good to skip a meal."

"I know." She rubbed her face, the humor fading. "I've got a lot on my mind. As usual."

"You looked like you did. You know if there's anything you want to talk about, I'll listen."

"Welfare guardian _and_ sounding board? Is there anything you can't do?" Her smile was back.

"I'm not very good at keeping up with my own train of thought." His eyes dropped to the table; he wasn't sure he could bring himself to say the next sentence and still look at her. "You're important, Maera. To the group, and to… And I wouldn't want anything to happen to you." He looked up, and gave her shoulder a playful poke. "Like fall over from hunger."

She grabbed at the faux wound with a laugh. "And I appreciate that."

They sat in pleasant silence for a moment before he said, with mock sternness, "You still aren't eating." She laughed, and finished her meal.

 

* * *

 

Mazzy appeared at the inn shortly before midnight, a short bow slung over her shoulder, looking as alert and primed for action as if she were coming off a tenday's vacation. Maera was envious. They collected Cernd from Coprith's home, and were out the gates in half an hour, with no one but a pair of guards the wiser.

They headed southeast in near silence, and the land grew wilder and more rugged, tree shadows casting fantastic shapes across the ground. Occasionally, an animal would burst upon them, and they would put it down quickly, and with each one, Cernd's face would grow graver. "We draw near," he said after a few hours. The moon, having arched high overhead, was now setting, and the chill of predawn was setting in. "This grove was my home for a time, not long after I chose my path. I hope to find old friends here, and speak reason with them."

"And if there is no reason to be had?" Yoshimo's hand kept drifting down to the hilt of his katana. He was not in his element.

"Then I would be grieved," Cernd replied softly.

They crested a hill, and the valley of the grove lay before them. "Something is not right here," Cernd said, his placid face grown troubled. "You feel it, too, Jaheira?" The half-elf nodded.

"The grove is cut off," she said. "Someone has usurped its power." She looked revolted. "By Silvanus, who would do such a thing?"

"The greater my suspicions grow, the less I like them," Cernd sighed. He indicated the path ahead with his staff. "Come."

They eased their way down into the grove, when suddenly, snarling and grunting, a pack of trolls rushed them from the underbrush. Kelsey quickly loaded his sling, and whipped a bullet at the nearest, winging it nearly bare inches over Jaheira's head. Maera swung for another's leg, smooth and swift. Watching her fight was like watching a dance – a sharp-edged dance that involved a lot of blood. Fortunately, it was rarely her own. The troll folded on its wounded leg and she swung a hard diagonal cut, shouting, "Kelsey!"

In the split second it took for the arrow of acid to leave his fingers, he let himself watch her. She pivoted on her ball of her foot, whipping about to face the next troll, her movements fluid and economical. There were no wasted strokes, no flashy business. She fought with precision and awareness, composed and in complete control. She fought smart. Minsc was intimidating for his sheer size and vigor, and Jaheira's cold focus and ironbound staff would make a strong man quail, but when Maera turned her sword on an opponent, he would have just enough time to know he was going to die and probably never get the chance to strike back.

She was terrifying.

And amazing.

An instant later, the crash of something large stumbling in the undergrowth brought him back to the present. Jaheira had brought down another of the trolls, and another quick acid arrow dispatched it. A flaming arrow from Mazzy's bow struck another low in the gut, and the remaining troll, seeing no point in valor, fled back into the trees.

The sun was a sliver on the horizon when they came across a rough wooden henge when a group of druids were gathered, evidently preparing for a morning ritual. The quiet conversation ceased as they became aware of the new arrivals, and the air hardened with tension. Cernd stepped forward, raising his voice. "My brothers and sisters. I have been sent by the Grand Druid to gain knowledge of the attacks on the town of Trademeet. What crime against the balance has the town committed? Will no one tell me?"

"Cernd?" one of the druids asked, his tone uncertain. "The Grand Druid sent you?"

"Pauden, my friend, yes. If Trademeet has altered the balance, you have but to tell me."

"Things have changed, Cernd. We have a new leader."

"Gragus has stepped down, then?"

There was a snicker from the back of the group. Pauden turned on his sniggering compatriot. "It is no laughing matter, Dalok," he hissed.

The younger druid shrugged and addressed Cernd. "Gragus is dead. He lacked the strength to stand before Faldorn's challenge. That is the way of the wolf's pack and the lion's pride – why should we be different?"

"Faldorn?" Jaheira said. "Did she come to you from the north?"

"What of it?"

"I know her; she is a Shadow Druid! She does not believe in balance, only in violence!"

"Nature itself is violent!" shouted another druid. "With claw and tooth it defends itself!"

"You are not defending nature, you are attacking civilization!" Cernd said. "This is not the role of the druid!"

"This is not going to end well," Maera muttered to no one in particular.

"I am sorry, Cernd," said Pauden.

"No," Cernd replied, lowering his staff into a guard position before him, " _I_ am sorry."

"I knew it," Maera sighed. The druids drew their weapons, and voices began to murmur spells. "Don't let them finish casting, Mazzy."

Mazzy nodded, and her first arrow caught the young hothead Dalok in the shoulder. Maera and Minsc charged the front line, while Yoshimo used the confusion they sowed to slip around to the back of the group. Cut throats could cast no spells. Cernd raised his staff, pointing it at the earth before Pauden, and a wave of insects burst forth from the ground, surging around the druids, biting and stinging. He immediately took a deep breath and began casting again; Jaheira kept to his right, fending off any attempts to disrupt him.

Kelsey alternated between spells and sling bullets, and he thought he and Mazzy were making a pretty good team, when he felt something strike him square in the chest. It didn't hurt, so he looked down, expecting to see some bit of rock on the ground nearby, or another sling bullet. All he saw was a small dart, throbbing slightly with his heartbeat. And then the reason for his legs giving out from under him was perfectly clear.

His muscles rebelled, tensing and convulsing. He couldn't draw a complete breath. His eyes were blurring; his hands and feet were going numb. And then there was a vision before him – a fair, round face, surrounded by pale blonde hair. Maera. He wanted to ask her what she was doing; pulling off her gauntlet and touching his chest, but his mouth didn't work. A pale green glow surrounded her hand, and he sucked in a deep breath. The burning faded, his eyes cleared, and he pushed himself up. "Maera. How did you…?"

She shook her head. "Later, okay? We need to get going."

The battle was over. At least half a dozen druids were dead, and the groaning injured were taking turns healing one another. Pauden winced as Jaheira pulled a bandage tight. "She has bonded herself to the grove, Cernd. That is how she managed to so dazzle the younger ones. She's invulnerable now, except in the challenge ring."

Cernd and Jaheira shared a look. "Then I must challenge her." Cernd said. "Lead us to her, and we shall end this."

Pauden led them through the grove, towards the stony hill that marked the outer boundary. He gestured them towards the large cave opening in the hillside. The interior of the cave was lit by glowing mosses, and before them stood a seat, where a woman with a sharp, hard face lounged.

"Who is this?" She jerked her chin towards Cernd.

"Faldorn, I am Cernd. I have been sent by the Grand Druid to put a stop to this abuse of the balance. The people of Trademeet have done nothing to deserve the plague you've set upon them, and it must stop."

"Do you remember me, Shadow Druid?" Jaheira spat.

Faldorn laughed harshly. "Well, aren't the Realms small? Did you get tired of making excuses for Nature's rape in the north, so now you've come to do it here too?"

"You have degraded this grove and broken the balance." Jaheira's eyes narrowed. "I will enjoy seeing you put down."

"And who will do that? You?"

Cernd quietly removed his cloak. "I will. My charge from the Grand Druid was to set this matter to rights and I will do whatever I must to see it fulfilled. I challenge you, Faldorn. And I will defeat you."

"Fine then," Faldorn sneered. "Let's see what you've got."

The challenge ring was a pit in the center of the cave floor. They gathered around it, and Kelsey stood near Maera. "Jaheira acts like she knows her."

"We traveled with Faldorn for a little while up north. A very little while. She and Jaheira had some philosophical differences," Maera replied.

Faldorn and Cernd circled each other slowly, armed only with plain staffs. The only sound was the click of wood on wood as they tested each other. Faldorn sprang forward launched a flurrying offensive, then quickly tossed her staff aside and stretched, her body blurring and shifting into a black panther. Cernd leapt out her way, his own body twisting and growing. His face distorted into a fanged muzzle; black fur spread across massive, hunched shoulders, and his growl of challenge echoed through the cave. Maera looked impressed. "I did not know he could do that."

The werewolf and the panther lashed at each other, claws raking as they howled and hissed. Faldorn darted around Cernd, tail lashing, muscles bunched to make a launch for his throat, but he slammed a paw into her side, sending her into the wall of the pit with a crunch of bone. She hissed in pain and anger, crouching, feinting to the left before charging at his leg from the right, claws extended. But he was ready for her, rounding on her with his jaws open. There was a feline scream, and a howl of triumph, and suddenly they were human again, Faldorn dead at Cernd's feet. He climbed out of the challenge pit, breathing heavily, bleeding from a score of wounds. "No more will this disregard for the balance be tolerated. The Shadow Druid is dead. The attacks on Trademeet will end, and we will now work to restore this grove!"

The other druids murmured to themselves, casting about fearful glances, but it was obvious from the number who gathered about Cernd to help heal him that Faldorn had not been nearly as popular as she'd thought.

It was amazing how different the landscape looked by daylight, but Kelsey was lost in his own thoughts and missed most of it. He gathered up his courage, and fell in beside Maera. Either she was getting very good at reading his face, or he simply had his question printed there in bold letters, because as soon as he came in step with her, she said, "You were poisoned. I purged it."

"How?"

She shrugged awkwardly, pointedly not looking at him. "It's something I can do."

"You're not a priest."

"No, I'm not."

"Then you - There were rumors about you. About Sarevok Anchev. After the iron crisis, people said he was a child of the god Bhaal, and that he wanted you dead because you are too." She said nothing. "Are you?"

She met his gaze, and he was surprised to see apprehension in her eyes. "Would it change your opinion of me if I was?"

"Well-" He thought about that, about the woman beside him. Was his judgment clouded, biased by that beautiful smile and those long legs? It was possible, but after those long conversations, after everything they'd shared with each other, and everything he'd seen her do, what would it take to make him change his mind about her? "No. No, I guess it wouldn't."

Her eyes dropped, and she didn't respond for just long enough to make him wonder if he should elaborate somehow. The she murmured, "I am. Though I didn't know it until after Sarevok had already taken aim at me. I'm sure you can see why I don't exactly go around announcing it to people."

"What else can you do?"

She shrugged again. "Nothing earth-shaking. I can heal small wounds, that sort of thing. Kinda like being a priest, only I don't have to pray. It's just…there, inside me."

"Where did it come from?"

"Dreams. Very unpleasant ones. I started having them after Gorion died. I'd wake up in the morning, and my hands would be glowing. It was very disconcerting."

Now there was a problem he could relate to. "I know how that feels."

She gave him a long look. "You would, wouldn't you?" She smiled slowly, and his heart fluttered. "You were right, you know. About how nice it feels to have something in common with someone."

Her eyes were so dark and warm. They could cut through a man, yes, but they could also make him melt.

 

* * *

 

The people of Imnesvale had celebrated with ale and dancing. The people of Trademeet celebrated with money. Apparently having nothing to spend it on for the past several weeks had caused them to develop an allergy to it. Maera wasn't actually sure how many coins were thrust into her hands after Logan Coprith's speech on the town common, and she wasn't even going to try to count it. They were put up in style in the mayor's home and when they all gathered in the small second floor sitting room, she discovered she was not the only one who'd be so thanked. A small fortune in gold coins gleamed on the tea table.

She draped herself across an armchair, and every time she looked at the tea table, a feeling almost like embarrassment quivered in her gut. And yet, she couldn't stop looking. Kelsey was speaking, but she wasn't really attending.

"Runners went out on the caravan routes while Lord Coprith was still giving his speech. If we're willing to wait a couple of days here, we might be able to re-supply and re-equip when the caravans get here. I could probably get us some good deals." He was practically rubbing his hands together with glee at the prospect. Maera snapped out of her reverie.

"That's a good idea, actually. We could all use a few days rest," she said. "All right, then. Everybody's on their own recognizance until the caravans get here." She began pulling at the laces of her jerkin.

"What are you going to do?" Kelsey asked.

"Me? It's been a long day. I'm taking a nap." She peeled off her jerkin and corselet, dumping them unceremoniously in the floor, and was asleep in five minutes.

When she woke, the room was dark, lit only by a trio of mirrored lamps. The only sound was a steady clinking, coming from the tea table. She stretched, and at the sound, Kelsey looked up from the ledger he was busily filling in.

"Hi. I hope you don't mind I took it on myself to count this mess."

She sat up, licking her lips and rubbing her eyes. "No, that's fine. I was actually hoping you would." She looked around. "How long was I asleep?"

"Probably about three, four hours. I didn't have the heart to wake you up."

Stacking up her armor, she got up and stretched again, wondering why she hadn't chosen to sleep on the perfectly comfortable looking sofa only a few feet away when she felt something pop. "Where is everybody?"

"Yoshimo's off…being Yoshimo. Minsc said something about getting crackers for Boo, and I have no idea how involved a process that is. Jaheira went back to the grove for a day or so. And Mazzy's at her mother's – I don't think she's going to be coming back to Athkatla with us."

"I can't say that I blame her, after what she's been through," Maera said, rolling her shoulders stiffly. "I'd go home and stay for a while if I had the chance."

She wasn't expecting the flash of sympathy that crossed his face. "Home being Candlekeep?"

She shook her head. "That particular bridge is long burnt out behind me. I couldn't go back to stay now. Things are too different. I'm too different."

"Once again," he said, "I know what you mean." His expression was still somber, but there was a smile of understanding in his eyes. "I haven't been back to my mother's house in six years. And that's how I think of it, too. Even though I was born there, grew up there, it's not home. It's where my mother lives."

"Home's a concept, not a place." She rubbed absently at her collarbone

"That is very philosophical." He smiled, then tilted his head curiously. "Is that a necklace? I don't think I've seen it before."

She looked down, noticing that her necklace, a flat silver disc decorated with a circle of etched knotwork, had slipped from the neck of her undershirt. She didn't wear it for adornment, so she frequently forgot she even had it on. "Gorion gave it to me when I became a woman." She leaned down to let him get a better look at it. "He said 'Every woman needs a thing of beauty'."

"He was right." He turned the thin pendant over in his long fingers, noting the symbol of Oghma on the reverse. "So you wear it close to your heart."

"Something like that." Their eyes met, and the air seemed to grow very still.

He cleared his throat and looked away, giving her a chance to tuck it back into her shirt. "I, uh, I didn't know you were a follower of Oghma. I would have figured Tempus or something."

She chuckled at the thought. "Remember, I grew up in the biggest library in the Realms. And ever since I left, my life's been one long unending quest for answers, so…I feel a certain affinity for the Lorekeeper."

"That makes sense. By the way," he tapped the last entry in the ledger with a pleased smile, "we've got it."

Her eyes widened. "Really?"

"Really. If my math is right. Which it should be. And that's not counting Yoshimo's gems, which we'll be able to sell when the caravans get here. The good people of Trademeet were very generous."

"That…that is…" She looked up at the ceiling, surprised to feel tears starting in her eyes. She exhaled, on the verge of giddy laughter. "I never thought I'd be so happy about a big pile of money."

He stood, smiling at her. "Kelsey Coltrane, at your service, milady. General accountancy, financial advising, and provider of hugs. You look like you could use one."

"Yes, please." She wrapped her arms around him, laughing, and bowed her head against his neck. He was warm, and he smelled good, and she could feel his pulse, rapid and light, in his throat. And when they pulled apart and looked each other in the face again, the tense breathlessness returned. _Oh, what the hell_ , she thought, and gave in.

It was not a long kiss, nor was it thorough, nor even deep. But he stepped back, sputtering and stammering, and grew as red in the face as if she'd stuck her tongue down his throat. "I…you…I…" He took a few deep breaths, as if he were working himself up to something, and met her eyes. She felt the corner of her mouth quirk in a smile, and it was as if he'd received a sign. He took her face in his hands, tilted it, and gave her the long, thorough, deep kiss she'd neglected to give him. Time stopped, and her awareness narrowed to him, his hands, his lips. Only two thoughts managed to rattle about in a mind gone suddenly, blissfully blank: one, she couldn't quite believe this was actually happening, and two, he was a _very_ good kisser.

When they broke apart, a nervous smile crossed his face, and his eyes were anxious. "I haven't – I haven't ruined anything, have I?"

She rested her forehead against his. Her entire abdomen was fluttering, and she had to lace her fingers together behind his back to stopping them from shaking. "I don't think so," she said, feeling very pleasantly dazed. "Nothing feels ruined."

He tilted his head slightly, his breath warm on her cheek. "Okay." He looked more than a little lightheaded himself. "Can I do that again, please?" She nodded, tightly, excitedly, and he kissed her again, soft and slow.

They stood there for a moment, when the kiss was done, each unsure of what should happen next. "I think it's official," Kelsey said. "We _are_ insane."

"Maybe. I don't think I mind, though." Her head was awhirl, but she steadied herself with a deep breath. "I'm, uh…I'm gonna go find Minsc. Tell him the good news. Um, about the money, I mean."

Kelsey nodded hurriedly. He didn't seem able to stop looking at her. "Right." He licked his lips absently and she had to force herself to keep edging towards the door.

"So I'll see you in the morning."

"Absolutely."

She had thought this was a complication, but as she leaned against the exterior wall of Logan Coprith's house, her heart pounding an ecstatic staccato in her chest, she wondered if it might actually be very simple instead.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, she sat on the front steps of the Fentan home, her legs stretched out in front of her as she drank more of Vara's excellent tea.

"You don't have to justify it to me, Mazzy. I understand."

"Perhaps I am trying more to justify it to myself," Mazzy said. "I have not truly stopped in so long, I suppose I feel a bit guilty doing so now."

"Well, there's no need for that. Besides, there's always next season."

"Aye, there is. And who knows what the next season holds?" Mazzy smiled, finishing her tea in one long sip. "I do hope you find what you seek, my friend."

Maera thought of the gold, carefully secreted in Minsc's pack. The information Gaelan Bayle had proposed to sell her was the most expensive she had ever bought in her life, but it would be worth every last copper to have Imoen back again. "I think we're close."

 

* * *

 

The first of the caravans arrived in Trademeet the next day, and there was almost a festival atmosphere was they unloaded. Kelsey had gone out as early as possible to handle the sale of the Umar Hills gems; the better to avoid having a lot of money on him as the crowds burgeoned. By mid-morning, his duty discharged, he wandered among the vendors, simply enjoying the rush and bustle of a busy market. He recognized a few faces from previous jobs, guards and buyers mostly, but did not feel inclined to stop and chat. He could already feel a gulf opening between the past and present, and he found he did not really mind the separation. The chief reason for this sensation manifested itself before him as he passed between two rows of stalls.

Maera stood at a bookseller's, carefully flipping pages to avoid bending them. Much to her embarrassment, she'd been in high demand since their return from the druid grove. ("Cernd did all the work!" she had protested to Logan Coprith. "We just took him from point A to point B!") There hadn't been much time to sit down and discuss What the Kissing Meant. Maybe there didn't need to be. Why overthink a good thing? Kelsey sidled up beside her and waited for her to look up. "Hi. Enjoying yourself?"

She smiled at him radiantly, and he took a moment to soak that in. _She_ was smiling like that at _him_. "Yes! Well…I'll admit, the crowds do make me a little nervous."

"You? Nervous?"

She made a face at him. "The first actual town I ever saw was Beregost, and I thought it was huge."

He ducked his head in contrition. "Point taken. Would it be better with company?"

"It's always better with company."

She set the book down, and they continued down the row. She stopped short in front of a weapons merchant, lips set in a silent O of appreciation. It took Kelsey a moment to see which item caught her eye, but then he noticed it – a beautifully worked short bow hanging on the back of the stall. "I didn't know you were an archer too," Kelsey said.

"Oh, I'm not. I'm a terrible shot," she said, still giving the bow a thoughtful look. "But Im's very good. And she'll need a new bow. We never did find her old one…" Her voice trailed off, and she brightened. "It'll be a good present when we get her back."

The seller's eyes lit at her interest, and he lifted the bow down for her closer inspection. "It is enchanted, my lady," he mentioned, ladling on the charm with a generous hand. "It creates its own arrows, you see."

"Really? Could you show me?" The merchant strung the bow and bent it; a white-fletched arrow formed, seemingly out of the air, as he pulled the string. Maera's eyebrows went up. "How much?"

"Thirteen hundred, my lady," he replied suavely.

Kelsey couldn't help himself. "Oh come on."

"Excuse me?"

"You don't even have five hundred gold in that bow, do you?"

The merchant twitched his shoulders like a ruffled bird. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I've dealt in the rare weapons market before. Even an enchantment like that isn't going to cost more than the bow itself, and you know it."

"If you're trying to haggle, you'll have to go elsewhere."

Time to play the ace, Kelsey thought. He shrugged with apparent indifference, and said, "All right. But…you _do_ know who this woman is, right?"

"Should I?"

"Two hints. She's from Candlekeep, and the Iron Throne consortium is not a fan of her work."

Something in the merchant's face froze. His voice lowered. "Is she-? Really?" Maera gave a self-conscious little wave, and Kelsey nodded.

"Now, you wouldn't want to be the guy who ripped off the Heroine of Baldur's Gate, would you? People talk." The merchant muttered something that sounded rather like a number under his breath. "What was that?" Kelsey asked innocently. "It's awfully loud."

"Nine hundred."

Kelsey shook his head. "Seven."

"Now you're just insulting me! Eight fifty!"

"Done." Kelsey beamed at him. "Would you wrap it up for us?"

As they walked away, Maera rested the bow on her shoulder. "Thank you," she said.

"You're very welcome."

"So, how much of that was actual bargaining and how much was showing off?" she asked, smiling shrewdly.

"I was not…" He sighed sheepishly. The warrior woman won again. He rocked a hand from side to side. "About seventy thirty."

"You don't have to try to impress me, you know."

"It's fun, though." He grinned broadly at her; there was no stopping it. It was some magical combination of the day and the company, and he just felt good. The world seemed bigger and broader and more full of amazing possibilities than it ever had before, and the only rational thing to do was enjoy it. She reached out her free hand and took his, her smile grown arch, and suddenly it was even better.

"Far be it from me to keep you from fun."

They wove through the crowds, hand in hand, finding themselves eventually on the square. They sat on the retaining wall of the huge fountain, where they split a block of honeycomb and people watched. ("Wow, you think that guy's overcompensating for something?" "I'm sure that's not what he wants you to be thinking.") Maera sat cross-legged, her eyes bright as she laughed over some minor noblewoman's overblown outfit, and Kelsey realized, watching her as the fountain's spray refracted the golden light of the late afternoon sun, that he would never forget the way she looked, right at that moment.

If he knew how to work the magic, he could have let the day last forever, but it ended nonetheless, as days are wont to do. The morrow found them on the road once more, their direction set resolutely for Athkatla, Gaelan Bayle, and answers.


	6. The Counter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"More eyes than you can possibly imagine are fixed on you."_

Maera poked her head into the common room of the Crooked Crane Inn. "You _were_ aware you had a lich in here, right?"

The barkeep perked up. "Well, yes. Did you take care of it?"

She glanced behind her to the backroom carnage, and the greasy spot on the floor that had been the lich. "Yeah. It's pretty well taken care of."

"That's very good of you, my lady! Would you and your friends care for a free drink?"

"Uh…sure."

Yoshimo edged up next to her, something hidden behind his back. "Fair friend, I believe you will like what I have found." He produced a long sword, golden hilted, which he presented over his forearm with exaggerated chivalry.

"Oh my." She took the sword in her hands, balancing it, hilt and blade, on her palms. "Well, hello, beautiful." She noted the circle of rose quartz set into the crosspiece, and the elegant tracery of sunbursts etched down the delicately waisted blade. "Lathander, eh? What tricks do you know?" Yoshimo shot her an amused look as he handed her the scabbard. She sheathed the sword and set it on her belt, maneuvering the other to her right hip without a pang. There was no emotional attachment there; she'd bought it shortly after their escape from Irenicus to replace her beloved Varscona, and would not mind in the slightest to set it aside. She wrapped her hand around the new sword's hilt, and smiled. It was a good fit. "I don't know what you were called before, but I think I'm gonna call you Daystar."

 

* * *

 

The street torches were being lit as they left the Crooked Crane. Maera pinched the bridge of her nose tiredly – she really wanted to just get to Gaelan Bayle's and get the matter dealt with. She hadn't slept well the past few nights since leaving Trademeet. The dreams were back, with a bloody vengeance, and they seemed determined to crawl about in her head during her waking hours, too. Irenicus's voice, smooth, cool, and mocking. _"Do you see?"_ Imoen, her eyes huge and glittering with pain and fear. _"You will come too late."_ And the knife. Oh gods, the knife.

She mentally shoved the nightmares back into their box as Kelsey fell into step beside her. Here was something far more pleasant to direct her attention towards. She had wondered if things would be awkward between them after The Kiss, but thus far they seemed to have avoided that by focusing on finding an opportunity to repeat the performance. Yes, kissing was a much better mental diversion than knives…

"So," he teased, "am I welcome, or would you like some more alone time with your new friend?"

_Much_ better. Maera stuck her tongue out at him. "Jealous?"

He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it and shook his head. "You know, I'm not even going to discuss the implications of a man being jealous of a woman's sword."

She snickered. "You're no fun."

His eyebrows went up, and he looked as if he were about to disagree with her, when a woman in a dark cloak stepped from the shadows in front of them. "Greetings, friends. There is a bit of business I would impart to you this fine evening, if you would hear me." Her voice was syrupy sweet, and something about her made the hairs on the back of their necks stand up.

Maera's left hand dropped to Daystar's hilt. "I'm afraid we are not interested in business at this hour, friend."

"But you are," the woman said. "For it is business you are already about."

"What are you talking about?"

"It would be best to direct your questions to my mistress."

"And who is this mistress of yours?"

"You do not know her, yet. All will be revealed, if you will come with me."

"Do we have a choice?"

The hooded head tilted, and there was a glimpse of icy eyes. "You do not want her to come to you."

"I see." Maera glanced about at her party. Jaheira's eyes were narrowed.

"And who are you," the druid asked, "that we should divert our steps for some unknown meeting, dealing with vague 'business' we may have no interest in pursuing?"

"I am Valen, and I am merely the messenger."

"That tells me little," Jaheira said shortly.

"Perhaps we should hear her out," Yoshimo offered cautiously. "What harm can it do us?"

"What harm indeed," Maera murmured, watching Valen carefully. The woman stood still as a statue, and though her face was shadowed, Maera could feel the weight of her gaze, heavy as a hand on the throat.

"Would it not be best," Valen asked, her voice still sweet, "to meet with my mistress before you brand her your enemy?"

Maera sifted the words down to their implications. "But if we don't, she might be?"

"I come only to offer you her hand. I dare not speak for her."

"Right. And I'm to assume that your mistress is waiting for us to meet with her right this very moment?"

"She is most anxious."

"How convenient for her that you managed to run across us just as we were coming back into town. That's really impeccable timing you have there." Valen said nothing, so Maera abandoned subtlety. "Are we being watched?"

"More eyes than you can possibly imagine are fixed on you. My mistress's might well be the most benevolent."

Somehow, Maera had trouble believing that. So much for a straightforward evening. Her eyes made the circuit of her party again. She saw an equal portion of warning reflected back at her. "All right, Valen. Since you're so keen on this, let's see what your mistress has to say for herself."

"Excellent. Now please, follow me closely. One would not want you to lose your way."

They proceeded in silence through the darkening streets, and passed through a gate into a landscape of tombs. There stood another cloaked figure. Valen bowed deeply before her mistress, who threw back her hood and regarded them with predator's eyes. "Ah, you are here. I was afraid you would not come. My name is Bodhi. We have something to discuss."

Maera crossed her arms. "And what exactly is so important it requires waylaying us in the street, and very politely threatening us into coming here?"

Bodhi seemed to approve of Maera's stance. She drifted close, regarding her closely. "I am glad my Valen was polite. You will be rewarded later, my dear." She smiled towards her handmaiden, then turned back to Maera. "You have been employed to raise a sum of gold, for the purpose of gaining information? To retrieve a lost friend, and avenge yourself on an enemy?"

"What's it to you?" She hadn't intended it to come out quite so belligerently, but uneasiness always made her blunt.

Bodhi smiled indulgently, as if she found Maera charming. "Oh, it is a matter of utmost interest to me. Understand, there is a war in these streets, one about to break like the waves on rock, and you would do well to choose the proper side. I can offer you what the Shadow Thieves have, easily and without hesitation. Don't look surprised; those who made the first demand of you are indeed Shadow Thieves, however they have cloaked their identities and motivations through glib lies. I intend to break the stranglehold they have on the nights here, and I would have your assistance."

"I don't care who can puff their chest and claim to run the streets of Athkatla. All I want is the information I was promised. I want my friend back."

"And I can give you that." Bodhi smiled, her lips pulling back from a row of pointed white teeth. "But I can do more. I can answer the questions you have feared you would never have answers to. Why were you in that cage? Why did your companions die? What did the mage Irenicus want with you?"

Maera forced herself to focus on Bodhi's eerily pale face. There was an aura of coldness about her, a sense that touching her would burn like ice. But her eyes, manic, liquid, and hot, glowed like embers in the darkness. Looking at her tapped that deep recess of the mind that feared the dark and shivered at a wolf's howl. "What do you know about him?" she whispered.

"Now, now," Bodhi replied lightly, "this is business, not charity. My price is twofold: a small monetary consideration, and your aid against the Shadow Thieves. My war shall very soon reach a point of escalation in which your considerable talents would be most advantageous. In return, I provide you with the information you need to recover your dear, lost Imoen, and the truth about the mage who imprisoned you." She clasped her hands before her; Maera noted that her fingernails were black. "I have come to you honestly. I have told you my name. Meanwhile, the Shadow Thieves hide behind their proxy, preying on your desperation, telling you nothing. Which do you prefer?"

_Well, isn't this an interesting conundrum_ , Maera thought. Bodhi was right: Gaelan Bayle had said nothing of who he worked for and why, and it was sheer desperation that had led her to agreeing to his terms. If he was truly employed by the Shadow Thieves, there was more to their motivation than mere money. There had to be. And Bodhi _had_ been honest, at least to a point. She had named her price and her expectations. But every instinct looked at her and wanted to scream. What was hiding behind that wintry smile? What was she not saying? Maera realized then that she still had her hand on Daystar's hilt. She got the impression the sword didn't like Bodhi much either. "I take it you would like an answer now?"

"Why drag the matter out? I'm a great believer in the power of first impressions."

"Then you'll need to give us a moment." She turned back to her party, and simply raised her eyebrows.

Kelsey rubbed his arms. "I don't like it. I've got no fondness for the idea of working for or with the Shadow Thieves, but she comes swooping in to offer us the exact information we've been after all along, right as we're heading to Gaelan Bayle? Always suspect a counteroffer that's too convenient. I don't like it at all."

Minsc's broad face shone with confusion. "Boo does not like her. She makes his fur stand on end! But we will do as Maera wants."

"As will I," said Jaheira, "but I, too, am uncomfortable with the circumstances of this offer. Surely you have noticed this creature is not of the living, Maera." Maera mouthed 'vampire?' and the druid nodded once. Her neck suddenly itched and she tried very hard not to rub at it.

They all looked at Yoshimo, and surprisingly, the normally glib thief seemed to have trouble finding the right words. "I…am unsure. But…I will stand with you, Maera. Regardless." His resigned expression struck her as odd.

"Well, I'm no great fan of organized crime, but I can't see how the Shadow Thieves could possibly be worse than whatever a vampire would want to do with control of this city's nightlife," she said, exhaling hard. "Oh gods. What have we gotten ourselves into?" She turned back to Bodhi, and straightened her shoulders. "I'm afraid we must decline. I hope you won't take it too hard."

Bodhi's bloodless lips pursed. "I will not. But we will meet again. Soon. And under less cordial circumstances." With that, she and Valen were simply gone, vanishing like mist.

Maera sighed. "Of course."

 

* * *

 

Gaelan Bayle greeted them on his doorstep with much effusion. "It's good to be seeing you again, me lady!" He ushered them in like old friends, obviously ignoring the party's pale faces and stiff shoulders, and when Minsc proffered the sack containing the gold, he said, "Oh, I'll only be wanting 15,000 of that."

Maera would have let her jaw drop, but it almost didn't seem worth it. "So there's a discount now?"

Bayle calmly waited for Kelsey to pull out enough bags of one hundred to make up the difference. "Markets change." He met her eyes, his bluff good humor evaporated. "'Tis very important to my employer that you take his side. Very important indeed."

Her eyes narrowed. "You know where we just were, don't you?"

"Aye."

"And what would your employer think of that?"

"I imagine he'd be most pleased that you're here instead."

Fair enough. Maera put her hands on her hips. "So what has our time, trouble, and gold bought us?"

The mask slipped back on, and with a flourish, Bayle handed her a key. She looked at him incredulously. "That key, me lady, will grant you access to the lowermost level of the Shadow Thief headquarters, in the Docks District. And there, you'll be meeting with the Shadowmaster himself, Aran Linvail."

Yoshimo sucked in his breath. "The Shadowmaster?"

Maera raised an eyebrow at the thief's reaction. "Should I know him?"

"He is not merely the head of the Athkatla guild. Every Shadow Thief guild in Amn answers to him."

Maera swallowed. Something cold seemed to trickle down her spine. Bayle closed her suddenly nerveless fingers over the key. "You might even be going tonight," he said. "Thieves keep late hours."

She squeezed her fist. "Be honest with me, Bayle. What does the Shadowmaster want with us? What is going on?"

"He keeps his own counsel, he does, so I couldn't venture to say," he returned brightly. Then his eyes changed again, and he continued somberly, "As for the second… War, me lady."

"War in the streets," Maera repeatedly softly. She nodded tersely to Bayle, who bowed extravagantly in return. The party filed out of his modest parlor in silence.

As soon as the door closed behind them, she swore, and drove her fist into the wall. The loosely attached wooden gutters rattled dangerously at the impact. "Just once," she growled. "Just once! I'd love to actually get a straight answer out of someone! But no. Here's a key! Go talk to the thrice-accursed Shadowmaster of all GODSBLIGHTED AMN about his gang war with a VAMPIRE!" She swung for the wall again; Jaheira caught her wrist.

"Maera. Calm yourself." She pried open the younger woman's fist and tucked the key into one of her belt pouches. Maera went limp, her anger doused by shame.

"I'm sorry, Jaheira."

"I understand your frustration, but we have no direction save forward."

"I know." She had joked once that she and Imoen should take up the phrase 'Jaheira is always right' as their trouble avoidance mantra. Time had taught her that wasn't really a joke. She took a deep, controlled breath, letting out the tension. She couldn't go into this with her head clouded and her temper raw. "Yoshimo."

"Yes, fair friend?"

"He said the Docks. Do you know where, exactly, we need to go?"

"I do."

"Lead the way."


	7. The Shadowmaster's Guild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I claimed this guild from the ashes." ___

Maera tried very purposefully to keep her mind blank as Yoshimo led them through the streets to Athkatla's docks. No rehearsing the conversation – it was better instead to simply be ready for anything. Nothing could surprise her if she had no expectations.

The Shadow Thieves' headquarters was a large, cavernous building in the northwest part of the district. The thief standing guard seemed to know them before they even introduced themselves, and his apparent pleasure to see them was slightly unnerving. The interior of the windowless structure was not so much furnished as vaguely inhabited – the stacked crates and plank tables could be disassembled in moments. They were directed through a draped doorway that led to the basement stairs. Just inside the drapery, another, younger thief, whose immaculately maintained hood indicated deep pride in its no doubt recent acquisition, challenged them sharply. "I'm going to need some proof that you are who you say you are."

"Other than this?" Jaheira exhibited the key. The young man swallowed, his five minutes of guarding glory already fading before his eyes.

"Well-"

"Don't be an ass, Declan. You know who they are."

They didn't even see her until she moved. The female speaker lightly leapt down from her perch at the top of a stack of crates, and pushed back her hood.

"I was just-" Declan's face was red.

"Yes, you were very fearsome. I'll make sure you get a cookie later." Maera had to bite her tongue to keep her face straight; the woman turned to face her with a cool, detached smile that almost managed to reach eyes tightened with stress. "My name is Sime. Yours is Maera. There. We've been introduced. Now if you'll follow me, please, he's expecting you."

She led them down the stairs to a common area that apparently had its own kitchen, and through a back door. "You can look around later, if you like," she said as they walked down a hallway so long it bordered on parody. "But we should really get the formalities out of the way first." The corridor finally approached its end, and she knocked a syncopated rhythm on the ebony door, which was answered by a knock from within. The door swung open, and Sime gestured with one black-gloved hand. "After you."

There were a half dozen people in Aran Linvail's painfully well-appointed chamber, but the man himself was easy to spot. He was the only one who was smiling. He was fair-haired, and utterly average in appearance. His features seemed designed to slide from memory as soon as the eyes beheld them, and they would have, if not for his eyes, steel sharp and bright with a dangerous intelligence. Thieving was the ultimate meritocracy, provided one survived, and he had done better than that. "And you would be Maera of Candlekeep," he said pleasantly. "Or do you prefer Baldur's Gate these days?"

"Seeing as I'm neither place, it doesn't really matter."

He inclined his head. "As you will. Care to introduce me to your companions?"

Maera could see no point in delicacy. "You already know who they are."

"True. But even the slightest veneer of civilization is preferable to none at all, isn't it?" Maera sighed and made a cursory circuit of introduction, Linvail greeting each in turn with remarkable sincerity. "Was that so bad?" he asked mildly.

He wasn't trying to kill her with kindness per se, but Maera could see the edges of machination in his hospitality. Which meant he probably intended for her to do so. "We're here to do business, Linvail," she said, echoing his calm tone. "I've been operating in the dark for far longer than I'd prefer to, so shall we?"

A flash of smile passed his eyes without his expression ever changing. "Absolutely. Bayle has relieved you of your hard-earned coin – and by the way, Sime, you'll want to make sure he hasn't filed any of it."

Sime leaned against the wall near the door with apparent indolence. "He'll behave himself. We had a nice chat after last time."

"I'm sure the conversation was quite bracing." Linvail's attention flicked back to Maera as if it had never been elsewhere. "Having dispensed with the financials, there remains the larger issue facing us all."

"Bodhi's 'war in the streets'," Maera replied.

"Yes. I'll admit, she surprised me. I knew she would attempt to make contact. I did not expect it would be this very evening."

"And why would you think that she'd do that?"

"Your reputation precedes you."

"She asked for our help against your guild," Jaheira said. "I imagine there is a similar expectation awaiting us here?"

"I'm afraid so. Would that I could simply sell you information regarding your friend's whereabouts, but that is not a possibility."

"But you knew you couldn't," Maera said. The wheels were turning in her mind, and she wondered if the sense of the Shadowmaster she was getting was accurate. "Right from the beginning. You knew when you sent Bayle to us that you would need our help. So I'm guessing that the money was just a test, and the information just bait. So I have to ask: do you really intend to help me find Imoen, or are you just holding her hostage too?"

Linvail's slow smile was that of a teacher pleased with a student's insight. "One: yes, I did know. This business with Bodhi has been simmering for some time time now, even before you appeared here in Athkatla, though we didn't have a name for her until quite recently. Letting me learn her identity was the first step in escalation, but now that she's made herself known to you, I suspect she is transitioning into open warfare. And before you ask, no, I do not know why you personally are important to her plans, but it is apparent that you are. Your name has come up repeatedly. I suspect it is because of your heritage, but obviously, I can't prove that."

Jaheira, whose posture was always extraordinarily correct, stood even straighter. "What do you mean by that, Linvail?"

The Shadowmaster looked wounded. "Peace, my lady! I meant no disrespect. I did not know the Child of Bhaal issue was a forbidden topic."

Minsc glowered. "Boo does not like those who throw about that name. It makes him itch for eyeballs."

"How interesting," Linvail remarked, unruffled. "As for your second question, Maera, yes, I do intend to help you recover your friend. I appreciate that it seems I am dangling her just out of your reach, and I hope you will appreciate why."

He met her eyes, and she let him look, let him read her. _Go on,_ his gaze seemed to say, _surprise me_. All right then. "You mean other than the fact you're a slippery, self-serving son of a bitch?"

For a single, shocked second, there was a profound silence. Then the air sang with drawn weaponry as the near invisible thieves lining the room pulled knives from places Maera probably did not want to know about. Quick, imminent violence loomed like a thunderstorm. Aran Linvail laughed.

"Oh, I like her," he said to Sime, who had conspicuously not armed herself. He looked back at Maera. "Are you always this much fun, or did I just catch you on a good day?"

She chuckled, relieved beyond the telling of it and determined not to let it show. "You should see me when I'm in a good mood." The daggers disappeared and she let herself breath again. "I may not like it, but I understand. You can't help me until I help you. Fine. As long as we understand each other's motives, I think we can work together."

The Shadowmaster smiled. "That's all I can ask. We'll talk real business in the morning – You've had a long day."

And somewhere on that desk, Maera was sure there was an itemized list that proved it. He probably knew what she'd had for breakfast. "I do have one more question," she said.

"Go ahead."

"Bodhi scares you, doesn't she?"

"Scares me? Never," he said lightly. His face darkened, and something genuine flickered across it, though whether it was fear or anger, she couldn't tell. "But I claimed this guild from the ashes. It was the making of me, just as I made it. I will not lose it."

 

* * *

 

They retired to a small, anonymous inn just outside the district walls. The common room was cozy, and populated only by a few small clutches of obvious regulars. Kelsey sat at a table with Minsc, and he felt bad for listening to the ranger's story with only one ear, but he couldn't stop glancing towards the fireplace, and the long bench in front of it where Maera sat with Jaheira.

"…and that was when we burst in heroically! Boo always says a good entrance is vital for proper heroing." Minsc swept his hand over the table for effect, and Kelsey had to quickly rescue his drink from becoming a casualty.

"Well, yes, heroes are frequently known for their entrances." He took a drink, and noted activity in front of the fireplace. Jaheira said something, and Maera shook her head. Consternation crossed the druid's face, and she spoke again, more forcefully, only to be met with silence and averted eyes. Standing, Jaheira tossed up her hands and turned for the stairs.

"Jaheira, I'm sorry," Maera said, loudly enough to carry.

"It is not apology I seek, Maera," Jaheira responded over her shoulder. "Good night." But as she faced the stairs once more, she shot a quick look towards Kelsey and Minsc's table, catching Kelsey's eye. She gave a tiny jerk of her head, the motion almost imperceptible, back towards Maera. Dumbfounded, Kelsey pointed to himself, and Jaheira nodded, her expression saying, as clearly as if she'd spoken, _you try_.

Kelsey blinked in surprise, then stood quickly. "Minsc, will you excuse me?"

Maera sat hunched forward, her elbows resting on her knees. She looked over at him as he took Jaheira's vacated seat on the bench, greeting him with a weary, "Hey."

"Hi. Wanna tell me what's on your mind?"

"What's _not_ on my mind would be a better question." She exhaled a long breath. "I'm just so tired of being pulled back and forth. Do this, do that. I'll help you, but you have to help me first. It's maddening." She scrubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. "But…I guess that's what I get for assuming this would be easy." She shot him an apologetic half-smile. "I'm sorry I've gotten you mixed up in this, Kelsey."

"Why?"

"It was one thing to drag you all over the countryside before…I mean, that's adventuring. But now…thieves and vampires and cloak and dagger wars in the streets, that's-"

"That's adventuring, too, isn't it?" He turned slightly on the bench to face her. "Maera, I didn't ask to join your party for fun. I meant what I said. I wanted to help you, and I still do." He leaned forward slightly, hoping to lighten the mood. "Besides, if I'd quit just because of the Shadow Thieves, I would have missed watching you call the Shadowmaster of Amn a son of a bitch to his face." It worked; she chuckled tiredly. "I cannot believe you did that."

She smiled faintly. "It was a gamble. It's a good thing I read him right."

"No kidding. For a minute there, I honestly thought we were all going to die."

"You and me both."

Encouraged by her good humor, he decided to try for what Jaheira had obviously been advocating. "He was right, though - It's been a long day. Why don't you go to bed?"

She looked away, a metaphorical portcullis slamming down behind her eyes. "I don't feel like it."

He refused to be deterred. She couldn't win them all. "You're exhausted, Maera."

"Kelsey, it's very sweet that you're willing to look out for me, but also very unnecessary," she said shortly.

He sighed heavily. He hadn't wanted to do this, but there was no point in tiptoeing around the issue. "You're having nightmares, aren't you?"

She shot him a razor-edged glare. "What, are you spying on me?" It stung, but he forced himself not to drop his gaze, and kept talking.

"It's hard to miss when the person in the next tent wakes up screaming."

The fight drained from her like water from a cracked cup. Her shoulders slumped and briefly, he hated himself. "Oh gods, you heard me?"

"Are they-" He lowered his voice. "Are they because of Bhaal? Like the other ones you told me about?" She nodded. "But these are worse."

"Much."

Suddenly, he understood. "Jaheira asked about them. You didn't want to tell her."

"She shouldn't have to worry about me."

"But she asked."

"I can't do that to her anymore."

"Why don't you let her decide that?"

Tearful frustration clipped her words. "They were married for _twenty-eight_ years, Kelsey. I _can't_."

And the whole tortured knot unraveled, revealing its heart. "Okay. Then can you tell me?"

"You'll think I'm crazy."

"So?"

"So, I care what you think of me!" she shot back. She flushed, and stared hard at the floor.

Now was the time to weigh his words. He spoke tentatively, feeling out the ground before him as best he could. "I think…that this is something you need to talk about, and that's what matters to me. _You_ matter to me. So if you decide you don't want to tell me, I understand, but…the offer stands."

She looked into the fire in silence for what seemed like an eternity, wrestling with her answer. "They'd gone away for a while," she whispered finally. "They do that. I'll go weeks without one sometimes, and then they're back. Sometimes I dream about people I know, and things that have already happened, but it won't be _my_ memories. It's like seeing my life through a different set of eyes, and those eyes belong to someone who just wants to let the world drown in blood and laugh while it happens. And sometimes, in my dreams, that someone is me. Or another me. It's…it's hard to explain." She laughed raggedly. "I'm trying really hard not to sound crazy."

He gave her an encouraging smile. "It's okay. Keep going."

"The past few nights it's been Irenicus. He has Imoen. And he…" Her voice broke, and she forced back the sob as she raised her head, eyes shining with anger tears. "He's a mage! Why does he use a knife? And why do I just stand there and watch? What kind of monster just watches?!"

It was not, oddly enough, pity or sympathy Kelsey felt as he watched her. Rather, a slow, simmering anger roiled inside him – it wasn't fair. On some fundamental level, it was not right that someone with so much good in her, so much life, and wit, and courage, should be plagued so she could not bring herself to face the simple act of sleep. Kelsey reached out, and touched her cheek. She flinched, then leaned against his hand, closing her eyes. "If I'm not a monster, then neither are you," he said softly.

She opened her eyes, and in one quick motion, wrapped her arms around him, draped one long leg over his, and buried her face against his neck. He started in surprised pleasure, and returned the embrace. Talking had just become a lot less important.

It felt good. That was the sum total of his cognitive process on the matter; it felt good. Good to be so close, good to give her comfort, good to know she trusted him. He wasn't sure how long they sat in silence; whether it was a few moments or hours, he didn't care. It wasn't until a barmaid passed, collecting empty mugs, and stopped at the sight of them to press a sentimental hand to her lips that he looked down, and noticed that Maera had fallen asleep. He squeezed her upper arm gently.

"Maera," he whispered. "How about going to bed now?"

"Mmmph," she replied articulately.

"C'mon," he encouraged, nudging her to a stand. She swayed hazily up the stairs, his hands on her shoulders. Her room was halfway down the hall, and when they got there, he politely turned his back for her to undress, trying very hard not to think about what was going on behind him. He heard her climb between the sheets, and turned back to wish her a good night. She lay on her side, one hand outstretched on the coverlet.

"Don't go," she said, her eyes half-closed.

He froze. How would _that_ look? How would the others react? "Uh…"

"Please."

She didn't need to say anything else. Appearances could go to the Abyss. He removed his robe, draping it carefully across a chair, and pulled off his boots, before climbing into the narrow bed beside her. She tucked herself against his side drowsily, and he lay there, idly stroking her hair, realizing that this just provided additional conformation of their joint insanity. But another part of his mind was more happily engaged in wondering if there was an afterlife like this, because he wouldn't mind that at all.

 

* * *

 

Maera lay awake, watching Kelsey sleep in the chilly gray light of dawn. She could tell herself she didn't know why she had asked him to stay, but she knew that would be a lie. She had been so comfortable, so at ease, more relaxed than she'd been since this whole mess began, and she simply hadn't wanted it to end. It was probably presumptuous, and unfair; she shouldn't have taken advantage of…whatever it was that was going on between them. Mutual interest? Flirtation? Courting? She shook her head. Those were things for normal people. Not Bhaalspawn adventurers who couldn't throw a rock without hitting _someone_ who wanted to vivisect her in the name of alchemy, religion, or mere twisted curiosity. Or power. The ones after some vague, unspecified power were her personal favorites. But then, there were certain merchant sorcerers born in a country with rather odd views on magic who probably knew how that felt…

And there it was. He understood. He knew what it felt like to fear one's own self and the loss of control. What it felt like to know that underneath the surface, something lurked, and wondering if anyone could tell just by looking.

She had woken once in the night, the tendrils of the nightmare still clinging to her. He had stirred, and sleepily tightened his arms around her. "It's okay," he'd murmured, still half-asleep. "I've got you."

"Yeah, you do," she said softly, touching his cheek. He turned his head against her hand in his sleep, stubble scratching her fingertips, and she couldn't help but smile. She slipped out of bed and tugged on her leggings, padding on stocking feet out into the hall. There she saw Jaheira leaving her room.

"Good morning, Maera."

"Morning, Jaheira." They walked in silence down the stairs into the slowly awakening common room. "Jaheira, I know you said you don't want an apology, but I owe you one anyway."

"And why is that?"

"Because of last night. Because I was being an idiot."

"This is a marked improvement. Did you sleep well?"

Maera narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Are you making fun of me?"

No one could make a single raised eyebrow mean as much as Jaheira could. "Me?" She stopped Maera with a light hand on her arm, looking up at her with that familiar unflinching gaze. "How do things stand between you and Kelsey?"

So she'd noticed _that_. "They're…good." Maera flushed and looked at her feet. "Very good. I-I like him a lot, Jaheira, and-" She bit her lip self-consciously and glanced back at Jaheira. "I've wanted to talk to you about it…it's just felt awkward, under the circumstances. I…haven't wanted to intrude."

Jaheira sighed. "Change is merely the turning of life's cycles. All I can do is reconcile myself to his absence," she said softly. "But," she continued, her tone strengthening, "that does not mean you should wallow in guilt like some overzealous Ilmaterian. You have a right to happiness, and you have quite enough real concerns without adding imaginary ones!" She shooed Maera with her hands. "Now go eat your breakfast." Maera smiled and took a few steps before Jaheira said, "Actually, wait a moment." She ducked into her room and returned with a small bottle, which she pressed into Maera's hands. "Take two spoonfuls the morning after, every time," she said quietly.

"Morning after…? Oh!" Maera flushed crimson. "Jaheira!" she hissed. "We're not…we haven't…"

"You will." Jaheira swept off to towards the stairs, leaving Maera bright red and utterly speechless.

 

* * *

 

Maera seemed deeply embarrassed about something as they returned to the Shadow Thieves' headquarters to meet with Aran Linvail, but she refused to tell Kelsey what it was or why Jaheira was oddly smug. He didn't mind terribly, though; he was still flying high from discovering a scrap of paper in his robe's outer pocket that simply read "Thank you." She had lovely, if surprisingly old-fashioned, handwriting.

Declan the Fierce was nowhere to be seen that morning, but Sime was waiting for them in the basement common. Back down the corridor to the ebony door they went, and into Aran Linvail's study. "Did you know," he said without looking up from the papers on his desk, "that the Cowled Wizards actually charge us a licensing fee? It really is ridiculous, if you think about it." His head came up, and he smiled at them brightly. "Have a seat wherever you like. We're partners now, after all, so there's no need for ceremony."

"Then I would say, _partner_ ," Maera said, choosing a beautifully carved wingback chair, "that we should start with what we know."

"An appreciation for the power of information," he said. "I like that. Very well. We know vanishingly little about Bodhi. As I said last night, we only learned her name in the past week. She simply appeared here in Athkatla about two months ago. Normally, when dealing with incursions of this sort, the Night Knives and the like, there's a rumor trail one can trace."

"But not with Bodhi?"

"Not even a little. It's as if she never existed before she came here. At roughly the same time as her appearance, a mysterious lab is set up in the sewers beneath the Promenade. You are unfortunately far too familiar with _its_ goings-on."

A damp, chilly cage…blood in her eyes… Maera shuddered. "I suppose we should thank you for raiding the place. I don't know if or when we would have been able to escape if you hadn't."

"Well, you can if you like, but to be perfectly honest, we weren't there for you. The timing was too convenient for my taste; I wanted to see if there was some connection between the mage and the vampire."

Jaheira's eyes widened slightly. "Is there?"

"Nothing we can prove. But I still have my suspicions."

"But you knew she was a vampire," Maera said.

"You can only find so many bodies without any blood left in them before you start drawing conclusions."

"And that's what's been happening?"

"If only it were that simple." The Shadowmaster gazed at them over steepled fingers. "The fact of the matter is that Bodhi and her…minions, for want of a better word, are disrupting this organization on a fundamental level. Unordered assassinations are occurring, with my people taking the blame. Operators who have worked for us for years are suddenly cutting ties, if not outright disappearing. My thieves can no longer go about the streets at night alone without being drawn into confrontations."

"That _is_ a shame," Kelsey muttered. Linvail raised an amused eyebrow.

"The irony is not lost on me."

"So the next question," Maera said, shooting Kelsey a look of very mild reprimand, "is where we come into this?"

"She has an end game that she is moving towards. My instincts tell me she wants to draw us into an open conflict, because everything that has occurred thusfar smacks of softening us up." His features darkened again. "She's planted fear in our midst, and I will see her pay for that. So where do you come in? I intend to pay her back in fear. She wants you, so I will give you to her. Sword first."

Maera couldn't help but smile a little at that. Manipulative master thief or no, she liked the way his mind worked. At least what he let her see. "You want to beat her to the punch."

"Desperately. But we're not even sure where she is headquartered."

"She met us in the graveyard," Maera offered, and Linvail nodded.

"We're fairly certainly that's where she makes her lair; it makes sense, after all. But we need to know _where_ she is. The undertombs are vast. We would waste weeks trying to pin down whatever corner of the district she's claimed. The best way to discover that may be to tail one of her guild members back to their base." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I've received word that two of my thieves are planning to defect – another of their fellows who was in on the plan thought better of it and came to me. They are supposed to meet a contact this evening at the Five Flagons Inn on the Bridge. Perhaps they could be followed?"

Maera nodded slowly. "That's actually not a bad idea. But it'll need to be done quietly." She glanced back at Yoshimo, sitting somewhat stiffly in the chair behind her. "You and I will handle this." He nodded in quick, silent assent.

"If I may make a request?" Sime, loitering in her habitual spot near the door, spoke for the first time. She had been so quiet it seemed even Linvail had forgotten her presence. "Since you're wanting to handle Jaylos and Caehan with just two, could I possibly…borrow the rest of your party for the evening?"

Maera almost laughed at Sime's phrasing. "It's not exactly lending a book, but what did you have in mind?"

"Yes," Linvail echoed, interest lighting his dangerous eyes, "what did you have in mind, my dear?"

Sime shrugged. "Mook."

"Ah." The Shadowmaster nodded knowingly. Maera cocked her head.

"That means absolutely nothing to me."

Sime shot her a swift smile. "Mook is one of our operators on the docks. Probably the best we have. She came to me this morning to ask for extra help guarding her shipments. She was nervous and that's not like her. I told her I would see what I could do."

Maera looked to Jaheira, Minsc, and Kelsey. Jaheira spoke first. "I had no other plans for the evening."

They had an entire day to kill, and Maera released them all to enjoy their downtime before they went their separate ways that evening. Kelsey saw her enter the temple of Oghma, and decided better of following her in. Better to let her worship in peace. He did not even notice Jaheira standing beside him until she spoke.

"It is a strange thing. I have actually only known her a very short time. Two years and some odd months are nothing in the life of the earth. But I suppose I feel I have known her longer because I was aware of her through her childhood, from her foster father. I regret not being a better correspondent when Gorion was alive. I might have known her that much better if I had. Nevertheless, I promised him I would stand with her. Help her find her path." A note of quiet pride entered her voice. "She has grown so." She turned her eyes from the modest Oghamite edifice to him. "Tell me. Does her…unusual parentage worry you?"

"No," he said. "I worry more about the situations her parentage has put her into than her parentage itself."

She eyed him a moment, and nodded once. He felt as though he had passed some sort of test. "It is apparent you are much taken with her, so it is best that I say this now." She leaned closer, and said a low tone, "As a druid, I will not interfere in any choice she makes, because her role in the greater balance is yet unknown. But as her friend, I tell you this. If you hurt her, the beating you will receive at my hands will leave you lingering in agony for days before death finally comes for you. Am I understood?"

He nodded weakly. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good," Jaheira said, and walked away.

 

* * *

 

"You look as if you are the only hen in a room full of foxes, fair friend," Yoshimo said, passing Maera her ale with a jovial smile.

"Sorry." She took a quick pull of her drink. "'Act natural' is apparently easier said than done." She and Yoshimo sat at the bar in the bustling common room of the Five Flagons, trying to look like they were just enjoying a night out, rather than on business. She attempted not to be obvious as she scanned the common room yet again for the now infamous Jaylos and Caehan.

"You should relax. This will be an easy night's work."

She tilted a curious look towards the thief. "You're in a good mood all of the sudden."

"The hunt is on," he said, punctuating his reply with a bounce of his eyebrows.

She laughed. "Seriously, though, you've been awfully quiet the past day or so. I would have thought you'd be more lively, considering who we're working with."

He pursed his lips and took a drink. "I am what you might call an…independent agent. My lack of formal Shadow Thief membership places me under certain constraints. It is only your company that has saved me from the sharp lesson I was promised when last I was here in Athkatla."

"Ah. Shame on you for not being a good team player."

"Yes, that is exactly my problem," he chuckled.

"You said you've been to Athkatla before. How many times?"

Yoshimo scratched at his chin. "Four or five, I believe. It begins to blur together after a time, which I am sure you can attest to. One never stays in a single place for long."

"Adventuring doesn't leave much chance for that."

"You would prefer it otherwise?"

"Don't get me wrong. I like adventuring." She shrugged and took another drink. "It just might be nice to get the chance to do it on my own terms every now and then."

Yoshimo's foot suddenly nudged her shin, and he quickly cast his eyes towards the staircase. A pair of hooded figures, a gnome and a human by the looks of them, was stealing up the stairs, trying far too hard to look nonchalant. Seeing them, Maera felt better. Leave it to the idiots to be apprehensive, she thought. She nodded to Yoshimo, who pulled up his hood and murmured, eyes suddenly sharp and narrow, "Follow me closely."

A quarter of an hour's loitering later, Jaylos and Caehan exited with their contact. As expected, they wound their way to the Graveyard District, doubling back, taking side streets and alleyways, until they passed the gateway into the tombs. The home of Athkatla's dead was a small city unto itself, with winding streets, and terraces among the fantastic architecture. Maera and Yoshimo stole between the monuments, finding a hiding spot behind an obelisk as the thieves and their guide stopped. A well-concealed switch was depressed, and the trio disappeared into the tomb below. Yoshimo raised an eyebrow, Maera nodded, and they followed their quarry into the depths.

 

* * *

 

Yoshimo was right. It had been an easy night's work. They had even been able to sketch a rough map before leaving the tombs and returning to the inn. Maera had expected to see Minsc, Jaheira, and Kelsey already there, waiting for them, and was surprised to see they were not. A quick inquiry of the barman turned her surprise into alarm.

"They haven't been here at all tonight, Yoshimo!" She knew she was unnerving the other patrons with her pacing and she didn't care. "They were on the docks, right? We need to go after them!"

Yoshimo stood in thoughtful stillness, a fist pressed to his lips. "I am not sure that would be wise. If they have been overcome, what aid can we two truly offer?"

"Well, I'm not just going to sit here!"

"Maera." He so rarely called her by name she stopped short. "Perhaps an interval to gather our thoughts would be best, yes?"

She heaved a breath and nodded. "You're right. Jaheira's always telling me I'm running off without thinking."

"Your devotion to them is admirable," he said softly.

The door opened, and there stood three figures, two men and a woman. Maera's heart leapt, until she realized the woman was not Jaheira, and that the taller of the two men was cradling a body in his arms. The world seemed to stop for an instant, and then everything was happening at double speed.

"Show me to her room," the woman said briskly. "We'll want to get her comfortable."

Minsc, his armor marred with score marks, was holding Jaheira, and he strode across the common room towards the stairs, the stranger in his wake, pausing for only an instant to meet Maera's shocked gaze. His face was dark with anger, but his eyes shone with unshed tears. Maera turned, horrified, to Kelsey, who leaned heavily against the nearest table, his pallor extreme. There were bloodstains on the front of his robe.

She didn't care who was watching or what they saw. She took his face in both hands and kissed him, grateful just to see him alive. She led him to the bench by the fireplace, and sat with him, Yoshimo trailing a few steps behind. Conversation began to return to the common room, the drama apparently at an end. Maera watched Kelsey's pale face carefully, taking one of his cold hands in hers. "Kelsey…what happened?"

"Everything that could go wrong did." He laced his fingers with hers and kissed the back of her hand. "Mook's dead." He shuddered at the memory. "He was on her in a second."

"Who was?"

"Another vampire. He called himself Lassal. It was over so fast, I don't think any of us even realized she was dead until she was lying there with her throat torn out."

"Oghma's books," she breathed. "What about Jaheira? And you? No offense, but you look awful."

"I'm okay," he said, running his free hand over his hair. "Overgold Reysa says I just need to eat something. That's who that was, by the way, with us. We got jumped on the way back here, not even three streets over. I'm not sure how many of them they there were, but…it was bad." His voice lowered to bitter whisper. "And I could barely do anything, because I have to be so careful out in the streets anyway so I don't attract the wrong kind of attention…"

"Don't blame yourself, honey," she murmured. The endearment left her lips without a thought. She glanced up at Yoshimo, who stood behind them, his expression unreadable. "Yoshimo, could you get him something to eat?"

The thief bowed his head. "Of course." He turned for the bar, and Maera looked back at Kelsey.

"So Jaheira's going to be alright?"

He nodded. "We managed to get them off long enough to get to the nearest temple – which was where Overgold Reysa came in. She came back with us to get Jaheira settled. She'll be fine, she just needs to sleep through the night." He gave her hand a squeeze and released it; Yoshimo had returned with a steaming bowl of soup, and he accepted it with evident pleasure. "So did you have any trouble?"

Maera caught Yoshimo's eye, her stomach gone cold. They were going to have a very interesting talk with Aran Linvail in the morning. "No. None at all."


	8. Versus Bodhi, Round One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If that was how the vampire wanted it, so be it._

The room was still mostly dark when Maera woke, and she had to take a moment to reorient herself. She was on the floor in Jaheira's room, and the dark bulk lying near her was Minsc, but the faint, slightly squeaky snore was Boo. Minsc was a very quiet sleeper. She stood, wrapping herself in the blanket she had been lying under, and approached the bed. As her eyes adjusted, she was encouraged. Color had returned to Jaheira's face, and she looked peaceful, her hair spreading in freshly unbraided waves on her pillow. A slightly tattered gray-green cloth big enough to be a horse blanket was draped over the coverlet; Maera smiled slightly and tucked Minsc's cloak closer to Jaheira's chin. "Sometimes the touch can be worse than the bite," Overgold Reysa, the kindly if slightly officious priestess of Waukeen, had said before taking her leave. "It can drain the very life out of you without ever spilling a drop of blood." She had left with firm instruction that Jaheira be allowed to sleep for as long she could, and wake naturally. So now they waited.

Yoshimo sat before the unlit fireplace in the silent common room. A solitary maid hummed to herself as she wiped down the tables in preparation for the morning, shooting the thief the occasional sunny smile as she worked. Maera sat beside him and said teasingly, "She's too young for you." Yoshimo simply raised an eyebrow, obviously deigning not to dignify that with a response. She tried a more serious tack. "You have the look of a man who's been up all night thinking. Care to share?"

He crossed his arms thoughtfully and leaned back. "I feel as though we are being toyed with. I find it an unpleasant sensation."

Maera nodded somberly. She was trying very hard not to blame herself for the previous night's events, and was mostly succeeding, but little daggers of guilt kept jabbing at her when she least expected them. It had been too easy, and some sense, somehow, should have told her that. It was an irritating feeling, and now that the shock had worn off, she found she was growing rather testy with the whole business. "It looks like they've started up the fires in the kitchen. Let's see if we can get some breakfast, shall we?"

The young maid, an obvious morning person, was only too happy to get them the first of the kitchen's morning offerings. Yoshimo eyed his oatmeal with a mild, polite disgust. "I do not know how you Westerners can stomach this. Flattened grains boiled until nothing remains of them."

"It's good with sugar," Maera said defensively.

"I still miss rice."

The maid passed on her way back to the kitchen. "By the way, miss, I was told to let you know – your beau's robes have been laundered." Maera tried not to choke on her oatmeal, her face hot. The girl didn't seem to notice. "We didn't add it to your bill. Must see a lot of bloodstains in your line of work."

Yoshimo's expression was carefully neutral as the maid went on her way, but his eyes danced. "That is an amusing word, is it not? Beau."

"Shut up, Yoshimo."

He stretched the word out, as though savoring it. "Beeeaau."

"I hate you so much."

"Do you truly?" He almost looked legitimately worried; she flicked her spoon at him good-naturedly, a few flecks of oatmeal splattering his shirt.

"No, more's the pity. If I did, I wouldn't care that you're laughing at me."

Yoshimo's gaze focused over her shoulder towards the stairs, and his face grew sly. "We have but to speak of him and he appears."

Kelsey and Minsc were already almost to their table, and Maera knew it was far too late to hope the blush would be gone. "Do I even want to know?" Kelsey asked, looking between them warily.

"Yoshimo thinks he's funny," she replied, giving the thief a dirty look.

"Ah. Gotcha." Kelsey sat beside her, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back by way of greeting. She smiled at him; something had changed between them in the past day or so, and she was fairly sure she liked it. Yoshimo, who missed nothing, had the pleased, catlike smile of one who had just had his point made for him. A subject change was in order.

"Minsc, is Jaheira awake yet?" she asked. The big ranger was eyeing Yoshimo's barely touched oatmeal with longing; it was pushed towards him with a generous hand. He shook his head as he attacked the bowl with gusto.

"But she is looking much better than last night, let me tell you!" He set down the spoon, his brow furrowing angrily. "Dirty vampires," he growled. "They should line up for the buttkicking they have earned. It will be easier on them than making me chase them down!"

Maera smiled, and gave his bald head an affectionate rub. "I'm sure when we go visit Linvail later this morning, we'll be discussing just that." She glanced at Kelsey, and gave him a gentle poke in the ribs, about to inquire after his sleep, but he winced and shied away.

"I'm okay," he said hastily. "Just a little more beat up from last night than I thought."

"Let me see."

"Not in here!" The inn was beginning to wake up; other early risers had joined them in the common room, and he looked about self-consciously.

"Fine." She stood, pulling him to his feet over his protests, and hauled him towards the stairs. The nearest of their rooms was Jaheira's, and she shut the door behind them, saying in a firm but hushed voice, "Now, let me see." He sighed and pulled up the hem of his shirt, revealing a splotchy wine-colored bruise painting his side. Maera whistled softly. "Why didn't you have the priest look at this?"

"It didn't look this bad last night. Besides," he said, gesturing towards Jaheira's bed, "She had other people to worry about. I figured it wasn't that bad since nothing was broken."

"Maybe not, but still." She extended her hand tentatively. "May I?" He nodded, and she placed her hand on the bruise, very gently, closing her eyes. It wasn't something she did often, despite having had the ability for years, and the sensation was always a little surprising. Jaheira described healing as feeling like a conduit, a vessel for the power to pass through. She was its guide, directing it to where it was needed, but she did not own it. Maera found the experience rather different. It was already there, within her, and every time she used it, she wondered if she should be, considering the source. But just like every time, when she opened her eyes and saw the bruise faded to yellow and significantly smaller, she felt it had to be all right. After all, what better way to spit in Bhaal's eye than to use his power for something good?

She noticed Kelsey watching her face intently, and she tilted her head slightly, meeting his eyes. When she was younger, she had hated her height. It could be awkward, being so tall, but maybe it wasn't so bad, really, because it made it very easy to look him in the eye, and he did have beautiful eyes…

It was a kiss with promise, a kiss that had places to go. Unfortunately, it did not get the chance; the rustle of sheets brought them back to reality. Jaheira stretched and yawned, her eyelids fluttering. They shared a quick, abashed look and hastily put some distance between themselves. Maera swallowed, composing herself and faced the bed. "Morning, Jaheira. How do you feel?"

"Stiff. And ravenous." The druid stretched again as she sat up.

Kelsey edged towards the door. "I'm gonna…" Maera nodded quickly.

"Yeah. I'll see you downstairs."

Jaheira waited for the door to close before continuing. "All this time, I thought Imoen was the shameless one."

Maera sighed. It was, it seemed, her fate to be mocked mercilessly this morning. Though in fairness to Jaheira, she had brought it on herself this time. "You're smirking."

Jaheira seemed to notice Minsc's cloak over her bed, and plucked at it gently. "A trick of the light, perhaps."

"I'm sure," Maera made a face. "Get dressed and come eat." She stomped back down the stairs, allowing herself the luxury of feeling put upon. She stopped short on the third stair from the bottom when she realized there was an addition to her party's table. "Sime? What are you doing here?"

Sime looked up, her face grave. No amount of irony could hide the apprehension in her eyes now. "You weren't the only ones who had a rough night."

 

* * *

 

Aran Linvail drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Sime had simply said he was "not happy", though her tone had indicated this was A Bad Thing, possibly on par with another Time of Troubles. But Maera didn't have to ask why. The evidence had been obvious from the moment they entered the guildhouse. Pale, strained faces and bloodstains on the floor. The vampires had been busy.

"I underestimated her." The Shadowmaster studied a spot on the wall some distance above their heads. "I underestimated her, and she bloodied my nose for it." He focused his eyes on Maera and her party again. He could shift his attention between targets so quickly it was almost unsettlingly, and that was just at his desk. Maera wondered how that talent translated to action; she found she was a little envious of the answer her speculation provided. "Well," Linvail said, "she's pinked us, but by Mask, I _will_ return the favor." _Now we're talking_ , Maera thought. He raised an eyebrow at her. "What?"

She was positive her face hadn't moved. "You're just speaking my language, that's all."

"I hope so. That's why I wanted you involved in this venture to begin with." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "She wants us scared and off balance. She wants us to react without thinking."

"That's her edge," Maera replied, chewing thoughtfully on her thumbnail. "Unpredictability and fear."

"So why do you think she raided this guildhouse and ambushed your party last night, but let you and Yoshimo walk right to her front door?"

"We even drew a map."

"Exactly. Why?"

Jaheira shook her head in disgust. "It is a special kind of arrogance, if you ask me."

"Yes, it is," Maera said, still worrying at her nail, eyes growing hard. "The _gall_."

Minsc straightened in his slightly-too-small chair hopefully. "She is getting mad," he whispered loudly to Kelsey. "When Maera gets mad, that is when things get exciting."

Maera glanced over at the ranger, her smile grim. "I think that's a fair assessment of my mental state, yes. If she thinks she can scare me into doing something stupid, she had better disabuse herself of that notion, because nobody jerks me around." She caught Linvail's eye. "Not for long."

The Shadowmaster returned the gaze calmly. She could almost see him filing away her every word for future reference. "Then last night was just a jab."

"She probably expects one of two reactions from us. Either we swing wildly, in desperation, with no regard for our defense, or we play turtle, and overdefend to our detriment."

"Fight or flight," he murmured with calculation. "She is a predator, after all."

"But even a cat toying with its prey does not do so out of cruelty. Not in the sense that we understand it," Jaheira said. "She also seeks to frighten us because it is amusing to her."

"If she wants entertainment, she can go find a bard," Maera snorted. "I'm not playing her game."

"Then what game do we play instead?" Linvail's sharp eyes were bright.

Maera could hear the ringing clink of marble chessmen on a granite board. She could hear Gorion's voice. _"Advantage is the key. In chess, in combat, in negotiation. Do not engage in gambits that take too many moves to complete._ _When you see your opening, you cannot hesitate."_ A possibility glimmered before her, suddenly within easy reach. If she lined it up just so, more than one bird could be in the path of this stone.

"Aran," she said mildly. "You of all people should know the answer to that. One where we make our own rules."

Her adoption of his given name didn't even garner a blink. "You're right," he replied, smiling, "that is the best sort."

"We need to hit her back hard, but on our own terms. We can't play to her expectations in doing so." The Shadowmaster nodded. "Then before we go any further," she said, lobbing her stone, "why don't you tell me where Imoen's being held?"

_There_ was her blink.

"You know me, Aran," she said, holding his gaze with every scrap of determination she had. "The second you found out who I was, you were learning anything you could about me, weren't you? You knew you needed an advantage, and you saw one in me. So you sent Gaelan Bayle to me, and watched to see what I'd do. And you have your answer now. I said I would help you, and you know that I will keep my word. But I'm taking the burden of your guild war onto my own shoulders, and I think it's only fair that you offer me a little something more than a key and the pleasure of your company."

He stared at her in absolute silence for what felt like an eternity. Centuries passed, civilizations rose and fell, and his eyes remained fixed on hers. "You," he said slowly, "are a terror." The corner of his mouth twitched. "I know you'll never take me up on it, but if you ever do decide on a career change…" He pushed back his chair and stood, pacing a few steps behind his desk. "Unfortunately, your friend is not in Athkatla. Nor is she in Amn proper. The Cowled Wizards maintain a facility where they house their prisoners on the island of Brynnlaw, some distance from the mainland. They refer to it as the Residence for the Magically Deviant, but I'm told it is more commonly known as Spellhold. That is where she has been taken, along with the mage Irenicus."

Whatever answer she had been expecting, that was not it. "When did this happen?" she asked, more shaken than she cared to admit.

"They were probably already gone by the time you met with Bayle." He seated himself once more. "The island is not easy to reach, nor is it on any regular shipping lane, which is why I was asked such an outrageous price of you. Passage is not cheap." He smiled faintly. "And you're right: I wanted to see what you would do. The fact that you were willing to pay that price told me everything I needed to know."

Maera shook her head incredulously. Even now, he still held the cards. And he called _her_ a terror. All the same, it was more than she had known when she woke that morning. She straightened her shoulders, and looked around the room. "So now that we understand each other a little better, the question remains. What do we do about Bodhi?"

 

* * *

 

Ultimately, the plan they arrived at was simple, which was how Maera liked her plans. Maera and her party would assault Bodhi's lair at mid-morning, and hopefully culminate the attack by noon, when she and her vampires would be most sluggish and weak. The object was to do as much damage as they possibly could, in as short a time as possible. "I'm looking to light the place up like Waterdeep on a fest night," Maera said. She glanced at Kelsey. "Which means I'm going to have to ask a lot of you."

He nodded tightly. "I can handle it."

"I understand it's necessary not to clutter this operation with extra bodies," Linvail said, "but I will have my own people in the Graveyard District on watch."

"That's fine," Maera replied, "but honestly, I'm more interested in material help than manpower."

"Of course. We had started an anti-vampire stockpile some time ago, when we were afraid we would have to do this ourselves." He cocked his head in her direction. "I'm glad that we're not, and not for the selfish reasons you'd imagine. Many of my peers would consider it heresy, but stealth and finesse aren't always the best tools, particularly in a situation like this."

They dispersed shortly thereafter to rest and make ready for the next day. Minsc and Jaheira returned to the inn to clean and prepare their armor. Yoshimo, who had gone quiet again, Maera noticed with some small concern, simply left without a word. She and Kelsey remained at the guildhouse to ransack the Shadow Thieves' supply of holy water and potions.

Kelsey was quiet as he held open a knapsack for her. He seemed distracted, his brow furrowed in thought, and finally he burst out, "I may not be a natural at this like you are, but don't go easy on me, Maera."

Her hand stopped, half way to the potion rack, and she looked him, puzzled. "Okay, first, what? And second…you think I'm a natural?"

"Aren't you? You're as good as a lot of people who've been adventuring for a lot longer. That says natural talent to me."

She thought about that for a moment. "I guess I tend to view things that come naturally to me with suspicion. Considering the source." She faced him, crossing her arms. He wanted to talk shop; she could do that. "As for 'going easy on you'… You may not have come at adventuring by the traditional route, but neither did I, as you just pointed out. Professionally speaking, you're easily the equal of any mage I've ever worked with, even if I can't exactly draw a direct comparison. I respect what you're capable of, Kelsey, but there's a fine line between that, and treating you like a human fireball dispenser, and I'm not going down that road." She took a deep breath. Time to address the griffin in the room. "But I will admit, it's different with you than the others, because of..." She gestured lamely at the air between them. "Us."

He appeared to find the stone floor completely fascinating. "Yeah."

Her own eyes dropped; she had to agree, the floor really was interesting. "We're an us, huh?"

"I guess we are."

She laughed weakly. "How did that happen?"

"I don't know. Believe me, I wasn't planning for anything, I just-" His head came up. "I've never met anyone like you before," he said frankly. "And I don't think I've ever felt as…alive as I have since meeting you. My life makes _sense_ , for the first time in a very long time, and I can't explain why. I just know I don't want it to stop." A sudden grin crossed his face. "Besides, Jaheira's already told me I'll be taking my life into my own hands if I screw this up. Well, her hands, technically."

Maera's hand flew to her mouth in appalled amusement. "Oh gods."

"Something about beatings, and agony, and death."

"Oh my gods." She giggled into her fist. "I am so sorry."

"She made her point."

"She's good at that."

And then they realized they were standing in a storeroom in the headquarters of the most powerful thieves' guild in Amn, grinning at each other like fools. They hastily finished packing the knapsack, and were about to enter the basement common when a voice hailed them from behind.

"Maera," Sime said, "can I have a word with you?"

Maera handed Kelsey the knapsack. "I'll catch up," she told him. She turned to the other woman. "What can I do for you, Sime?"

"You can let me thank you. For what you're doing for us."

"Why wouldn't I?"

Sime dipped a shoulder idly. " A lot of heroic types tend to look down on my line of work. You haven't struck me as that sort, but it never hurts to be sure."

Trying to read Sime was like opening a book in an unknown language. Which was likely why Maera found her so interesting. "Well…you're welcome. But I'm still not sure why you're thanking me."

"People tend to make assumptions about thieves. They think we don't know anything about loyalty, or that it has no meaning to us. But the truth is, it's something that can't be bought or stolen, so most thieves just don't bother with it."

"But you do."

"When you can get just about anything you want by skill, the things you have to earn become a lot more important. You're loyal to your friend, and I respect that."

Maera sorted through that statement, found Sime's direction, and followed it. "I see. And you're loyal to Aran Linvail."

"Always."

"He earned that?"

Sime grinned. "That and more."

"Why tell me this?"

"Because when you go to Brynnlaw, Aran will be sending me with you. And I wanted you to know you can trust me."

To her surprise, Maera was touched. "Maybe I should be thanking you."

Sime shot a wry smile over her shoulder as she turned to depart. "Can't buy gratitude, either."

 

* * *

 

The next morning, they went to the Graveyard District while the city still woke. They came to the tomb entrance she and Yoshimo had found and she mentally scanned the map they had made "Yoshimo, scout ahead until we've reached the main door. I'm sure they've got some got some surprises waiting for us." He nodded tersely and her brow furrowed. "You alright?"

"Only anxious to begin," he replied heartily. Something about the set of his shoulders belied that.

The tomb Bodhi had chosen for her headquarters was beautiful, as graves went. Elegant mosaics decorated the walls, and even the stone floors were carved with intricate patterns. Yoshimo stalked through the darkness ahead of them, a soft whistle his signal for them to stop when he discovered anything suspicious. As they reached the double doors that marked the entrance to the lair itself, he shook his head, cutting a fine wire that stretched from the door handle to a slot in the floor. "Amateurish attempts," he muttered.

"I don't think the traps are really here to hurt us," Maera replied, her voice low. "They're just trying keep us on our toes."

"They should try harder, then," he said, smiling grimly. "I could more deviously trap this door in my sleep."

"No one likes a braggart, Yoshimo," she whispered, pulling a torch from her pack. Before she could dig out her striker, Kelsey touched the palm of his hand to the torch's head. The oil-soaked cloth crackled as it caught fire. Maera shook her head, smiling. "I'm surrounded by showoffs." She shifted the torch to her left hand and drew Daystar. Time to see what her new acquisition could do.

Yoshimo and Minsc pulled at the great doors, which slid open with silent ease. Eyes appeared in the darkness before them, reflecting the flickering torchlight. Maera grinned mirthlessly and swung for the first one unlucky enough to be in her path. The vampire launched itself at her with uncanny speed, and she brought her off hand up in an arc, the torch illuminating her opponent. Unlike Bodhi and Valen's darkly sleek appearance, these vampires were stringy-haired and none too clean. Fledglings perhaps, too new to their changed nature to know better yet.

It may have been her imagination, but it seemed almost like Daystar was glowing as it made contact with the undead. Reflecting the torchlight? She didn't waste time on wondering; there was still work to be done. She pivoted on her heel, ducked to avoid a claw swipe aimed for her throat, and cut the legs of her assailant out from under it. Yoshimo finished it off for her with a single beheading stroke.

She came up and saw a trio of vampires closing in on Kelsey. She was about to call out a warning when his hands came up and his eyes closed. A perfect half-sphere of fire rushed out in all directions from his body with a roar, coming within a few feet of where she stood. She was suddenly glad she was no closer – the heat was so intense it seemed to have physical form, and that form had fists. A stench of charred meat filled the air as the three vampires dissolved into their gaseous state. Maera heard another behind her and turned, slashing low from the waist, gutting the last vampire in the room.

Kelsey hurried towards her. "Are you okay? I couldn't tell how close you were, and apparently that spell messes with my depth perception."

"A little singed, but I'll be fine," she said, catching her breath. "That new?"

He nodded with sheepish pride. "Just figured it out a couple of days ago."

"I like it." She stretched her shoulders. "Everyone alright?" A chorus to the affirmative made her smile. They could do this. "Minsc, you're on point. The time for subtlety has passed us by."

She had meant what she told Kelsey about not wanting to see him as a walking personification of his abilities, and that was true for the entirety of the party, but what she hadn't said was that in battle, different rules had to apply. She had learned that lesson the hard way once and she would not make the same mistake again. There had to be something distant, something clinical about combat, or else she would never be able to put the people dearest to her in the world in harm's way. Most of the time, she was not aware of slipping into that mindset until after the battle was done, but sometimes she could feel herself separate and hear her own thoughts, conscious of the changed lens.

She was in that state as another quartet of vampires rushed them down the narrow corridor. Minsc, with his plate mail and ability to ignore almost ludicrous amounts of pain, was perfect on point in such situations, and the great two-handed sword he favored made his reach almost twice her own. But there was an opening between two of the vampires, and she was just as able to see herself through tactician's eyes as anyone else. She skidded between them, just out of Minsc's range, keeping Daystar up against the inevitable neck grabs. She lashed out with her torch, and the vampire recoiled, then stiffened, howling. It turned, flailing at the arrow of fire sunk between its shoulder blades, and Maera took her opportunity to run it through. She knew Kelsey would never admit to it, but there had to be something cathartic about being able to set things on fire just by gesturing at them. _Ah well,_ she philosophized as she kicked the body off her sword blade, _the grass is always more flammable on the other side_.

There was a chime of breaking glass and another inhuman scream. Jaheira had lobbed a vial of holy water over their heads and the final vampire, its skin smoking, tried to flee, but it had nowhere to go. It took only one stride and one quick slash for Maera to put it out of its misery.

They burst into the great central hall, and a solitary figure stood before them, stiff-backed and cold-eyed. Here was one that was older, more assured, and more in command of the nerveless terror its kind inspired. That was the thing about vampires, Maera decided. She had faced other forms of undead before, zombies, wights, and their ilk, and they were undoubtedly disturbing creatures. Dead things should stay dead, and those that didn't offended the order that the very deepest, most primal parts of the mind accepted as right and proper. But vampires were even worse, because they were dead things that acted like they were still alive.

"I am Lassal," the vampire atoned, his voice rough like winding sheets and coffin lids. "You shall not live to face my mistress, dogs!"

Maera's jaw grew tight. "'Dogs'? That's the best you've got? Here. Let me show you how it's done." She extended her arm, pointing her sword at Lassal's throat. "This is Daystar. And the last thing you're ever going to feel will be this sword, cutting you in two." Lassal snarled and a half dozen other vampires appeared from the shadows. "Did I mention it was blessed by Lathander?" The glow she'd thought she imagined on the blade suddenly flared, a brilliant, clear light that lit the room as though the ground above had opened up to let in the sun. The vampires wailed and hissed in agony, stunned and burned. It could never be said that her party let opportunities pass them by; no one had been expecting the pyrotechnics, but they were all willing to take advantage of the turmoil. They launched themselves at the bewildered vampires, but it wasn't actually Daystar that cut Lassal down. Minsc got to him first and sent his head bouncing off into a corner like a child's discarded toy. Maera wrapped both hands around Daystar's hilt and pressed the weapon against her chest. _Okay,_ she thought in Lathander's general direction, _that was far better than I was expecting. I'm not converting or anything, but I will make a very nice offering when we get out of here, I promise._

As the final vampire drifted away in gaseous form, there was a clatter behind her. Yoshimo leaned against a plinth, his katana forgotten on the floor, one hand pressed to his side. Jaheira had spotted him too, and she was quickly beside him, examining the wound. "Get that torch out of my eyes," she ordered irritably, and Maera stepped back. She still occasionally forgot about infravision.

The vampire had gotten lucky, slashing through a thin spot in Yoshimo's leathers on his ribs, a handspan under his arm. He was pale, and Jaheira tipped a restorative potion from the Shadow Thieves' stock to his lips before she even attempted to heal him. It was apparently none too pleasant; he choked as he tried to swallow. "All of it," Jaheira said firmly, as if he were a restive child refusing his vegetables. When he got it down, she raised glowing hands to his side. "Was that so terrible?" she asked.

Yoshimo's lips remained curled with distaste, even as the color returned to his features. "You did not have to taste it."

There was only one other obvious door in the hall besides the one they had entered by. They had only gone a few steps into the next room when Maera had to stop, gagging. The air was so thick with the scent of blood she could taste it. As she forced herself forward, the source of the smell was apparent. A beautiful marble tub, the sort that might grace the bath chamber of a noble house, occupied almost an entire wall of the small room. It was filled to the brim with blood. Brightly colored silk cushions scattered about the floor gave the impression that it might well be the vampires' bath room. "Gods, that's disgusting," Kelsey muttered, breathing through his sleeve.

Minsc's mouth was a deep line of disapproval. "Everyone knows you use water for bathing. Even Boo, and he does not like the B word."

"I don't care if they use it to water their plants," Maera said. She was trying to breath through her mouth, but it wasn't really helping. She held out a hand. "Jaheira, do you have any more holy water?" The druid silently pressed a small clear vial into her hand. She unstopped it and poured the contents into the tub. "There. That ought to ruin the bouquet." She looked about the room glumly. There were no apparent doors. "Looks like a dead end, though."

"Not so, I think." Yoshimo was examining the far wall carefully, trailing his fingers over the masonry with deliberation. He paused, tapping lightly on a spot that seemed, to Maera's eyes, no different from the rest of the wall. "Ah," he murmured. "I was correct." One of the mosaic tiles depressed under his hand, and a section of the wall slowly moved on hidden tracks. A cool gust of air set the torch to flickering. Minsc raised his eyebrows in inquiry, Maera nodded, and the ranger led the way into the hidden chamber.

It was a small, dank room, with none of the ornamentation that marked the rest of the lair. The walls were bare, crumbling brick, and the only feature of note was the trio of raised biers, each stacked with at least a dozen narrow coffins. Maera allowed herself a tight smile of triumph. This was what they had come for. Each of them had been carrying three skins of oil, another gift of Aran Linvail's stockpile, and they set to work, pouring out the oil on the coffins, the floor, and the walls.

"Well, well," Bodhi said. She had simply appeared in the room with them. No crackle of teleportation, no ozone, no warning.

"Morning, Bodhi," Maera said, doing her best Imoen impression in an effort to ignore the way the vampire made her skin crawl. "Did we disturb your beauty sleep?"

"You certainly don't do things by halves, do you? You really are determined to make a pest of yourself."

"No need to make it personal," Maera replied. "This is just business."

"Yes, Shadow Thief business. How does it feel, being Aran Linvail's errand girl?"

"When my other option was to be yours? Frankly, Bodhi, I like Linvail," Maera said. "He's intelligent, urbane, witty, and odd as this sounds, honest. Whereas you? You're just really creepy."

Bodhi snorted. "And what has he given you, other than promises? What exchange has he made for your gold and blood? How can you know he does not intend to sell you to the highest bidder, Child of Bhaal? Irenicus could have helped you, but the Shadow Thieves interrupted him."

Maera gritted her teeth. Her fuse was burning. "I asked you this before. What do you know about Irenicus?!"

"Oh, I know many things. But I have no reason to share them now. Things might have been so different. You could have learned so much," Bodhi sighed, unruffled. "But I grow tired of indulging you. This posturing is really quite pointless."

If that was how the vampire wanted it, so be it. "You know what? You're right. It is." Coolly, Maera tossed her torch at Bodhi's feet.

The oil burst into flame, and the vampire snarled, eyes slitted. "So that is how it is. Very well." And she was gone.

"Bitch," Maera said, and coughed. It occurred to her that she had just set a very small room on fire, and beating a hasty retreat might be a wise move.

They emerged from the tomb soot-streaked and choking on the smoke. Maera sank into a squat and put her head on her knees. "Okay," she said, voice muffled, "I realize that the torch throwing thing was overdramatic and kind of stupid, but will someone please tell me that it was worth it?"

Minsc pulled her to her feet and clapped her on the back so hard it knocked the wind from her. "You have planted such a foot in the vampire's backside, she will taste your boot polish for days! Boo is very proud of you."

"Oh good. Oghma knows I live for Boo's approval."

Jaheira gave her a stern, don't-encourage-him look, and they all set out from the graveyard smoky and exhausted, but generally pleased with the morning's work.

 

* * *

 

They descended on Aran Linvail's guildhouse in high spirits. The Shadowmaster took one look at them, caked with sweat and soot and smelling vaguely of charcoal, and asked that they kindly make use of the guild's bathing facilities before bothering with an after action report. And so it was some time later when, clean and refreshed, they gathered in Linvail's chambers to fill him in on the events within the tomb.

"I was happy enough to hear you all exited under your own power," he said, "but it's even better to see you're pleased how it went."

"I don't think I would count the vampires out just yet, Aran," Maera said, savoring her wine. It didn't surprise her in the slightest that the Shadowmaster had an excellent wine cellar. "We definitely slapped them around, but Bodhi is still very much at large."

"It would seem, however, that her guild's purpose is at an end," Yoshimo said slowly, pressing his fingertips to his temple for a moment.

"Why do you say that?" Maera asked.

He shrugged, and looked apologetic. "It is a feeling."

"She mentioned Irenicus again. She taunted us with her knowledge of him," Jaheira said contemplatively. "You are correct, Linvail; there is some connection between them, though I could not guess at its nature."

"It's never wise to write off an enemy until you've seen the body," Linvail said. "And even then, I prefer to save the celebration until I've killed off the priests, just to be sure." Jaheira raised an eyebrow, and he coughed, contrite. "Metaphorically speaking, of course."

"Of course."

"But I do think you have more than fulfilled your part of our bargain. I can't in good conscience ask you to remain when you have pressing business elsewhere."

Maera couldn't help herself. "Conscience? Isn't that a dirty word around here?"

"I'm a little ashamed to say it in mixed company," he chuckled. "I have purchased you passage on a ship, and will be sending Sime with you." Sime, lurking in her spot by the door, caught Maera's eye with a 'told you so' smile. "She has some contacts on the island and will be able to advise you on the best course of action when you arrive. Your ship leaves on the night tide tomorrow evening, so I would suggest making ready." As they filed from the room, he called out, as though just thinking of it, "And Maera? Good luck."

 

* * *

 

They returned to the inn to begin packing. Kelsey reached for Maera's hand as they climbed the stairs up to their rooms. "Would it be out of line for me to tell you yet again how remarkable you are?" he asked.

She shook her head with a slight eye roll, pleased all the same. "Flatterer."

"No, flattery would imply that I don't really believe it, and I'm just saying it for your benefit. But I really do believe that you're remarkable, so it's not flattery." He was pleased with his rhetorical powers.

"Touché. So what inspires this non-flattery?"

"The way you handled Bodhi. And Linvail. And everything. You're fearless."

"'Courage is the acceptance of fear.' That's what Gorion used to say. But I'd say it's more acclimation. Deal with certain situations long enough, and they…lose their power. I don't have time to be afraid anymore. I have things to do."

He stopped her as they reached the top of the stairs, his face suddenly serious. "Maera, there's a difference between being brave and being blasé. Your life is very important to a lot of people."

"The whole Bhaalspawn thing makes people very interested in my life, but not on a personal level."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Think about Minsc and Jaheira, and what you mean to them. Yoshimo obviously respects you, and I get the feeling that's a pretty rare thing. And I…" His voice trailed off, and he stared at the floor. "I can't do without you."

She was fairly certain she was actually a puddle on the floor, and that her upright physical form was just an illusion. "I can't do without you, either."

He flicked his eyes back up to her face. "Then we won't." He put on his trader's face, all earnest eyes and serious jaw, and thrust out his hand. "Deal?"

He really was too much. She laughed helplessly, and the words slipped out before her brain had a prayer of keeping up with her mouth. "I love you."

_Oh gods._

Kelsey stared at her for a long, terrifying moment. She worked her jaw to say something, _anything_ , but her voice had fled in confusion. Without warning, he grabbed her by the waist, pinned her against the wall, and kissed her, hard. She yelped in surprise, but the shock wore off quickly as the kiss deepened. He ran his hands up her sides to tangle them in her hair, and she dropped her own to the small of his back to pull him tighter to her. The world was gone, and it was just the two of them, saying nothing and everything all at once.

A footstep creaked on a stair, and they turned their heads in breathless embarrassment. Jaheira let a smirk ghost across her lips for an instant before commenting, "It would not do to overtire yourselves, you know. We have much to do."

Maera and Kelsey both muttered agreement. They _did_ need to pack. Before they disentangled, Kelsey touched her chin gently, meeting her eyes. "I love you, too," he whispered. He cleared his throat, glanced at Jaheira, and pointedly kissed her again before vanishing up the hall. Maera leaned against the wall and counted to ten before she trusted her legs to take her to her own room. Something had definitely changed, and she was _positive_ she liked it.

Jaheira watched them, and for a moment, indulged in the sweet melancholy of remembering a few stolen moments with a redhead of her own.

 

* * *

 

Maera had made a promise, and she saw no reason to delay in fulfilling it. She hurried through the streets with a cone of rather expensive incense, heading for the Temple District. She ducked into the Temple of Lathander and placed her incense on the alter. Kneeling, she took a deep breath. _All right. I told you I'd be here and I am. Honestly, though, I don't really know what to say other than thank you. Thank you for the sword._

"You're welcome," said the priest beside her. He blinked, as if unsure why he'd spoken.


	9. Grievance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Beyond this point were dragons, metaphorically speaking._

Maera was many things, Jaheira reflected. Many wonderful, noble, admirable things. But one thing she was most emphatically _not_ was patient. And that evening, with a whole day between them and their departure for Brynnlaw, she was driving Jaheira to distraction with her pacing and her muttering and her general aura of discontent. So as the druid saw it, she had two options. One: she could lock the girl in a room with her young sorcerer and let nature take its course. It would do them both good and would reduce the overall tension level of the group considerably. But given her current state of agitation, she would probably end up injuring the poor boy, and Jaheira did not feel like dealing with the aftermath of _that_. That left alcohol as her other option. Drinking made Maera sleepy and complacent, and that seemed the best possible outcome Jaheira could devise under the circumstances.

They were staying that evening in an unassuming and surprisingly decent inn on the Docks called the Sea's Bounty. Sime had recommended the place, saying one could pay far more for far worse beds in Athkatla. So Jaheira steered Maera down to the common room, hoping the bar would have a good enough selection that Maera would not turn up her connoisseur's nose. As it turned out, there was a good Sembian ale on tap, and she soon wound into a much more tolerable state under Jaheira's watchful eye.

"Jaheira, my darling."

The man who spoke was gaunt, hollow-eyed, and unkempt. His tunic was worn and baggy and his hair and beard had seen nothing like proper grooming in a very long time. She would not have recognized him, if not for that voice. All those years, and she still knew it in an instant. She would never forget it, but she wasn't about to let him think he was so memorable. He didn't deserve it.

"I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

His face clouded. "You cannot tell me you do not recognize me."

Jaheira shook her head, wide-eyed as a lamb. This was rather enjoyable. "I am afraid not."

"So you do not remember the faces of those you have ruined?! Have there been so many you cannot keep them all straight?"

Jaheira didn't let her expression change. Maera looked tipsily between her and the angry stranger, unsure of what to make of the scene. "Ruined?" Jaheira asked mildly. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"My name is Ployer!" he roared. " _Baron_ Ployer, until that title was stripped from me by the courts listening to your _slanders_ that I was a slave trader."

"It is only slander if it is untrue," Jaheira said calmly. Oh, she remembered Ployer. She and Khalid that labored for months to gain the evidence needed to bring down his little empire. It was gratifying to see that all that work had not been in vain. She looked him up and down with a cool, assessing gaze. "Poverty suits you, Ployer. The last time I saw you, you were fat."

Ployer's hollow eyes narrowed angrily. "You haven't changed a bit, have you? I'd heard you were back in Athkatla, arrogant as ever, and I had to see for myself." He craned his neck about. "So. Where is your stuttering shadow these days? Misplaced him?"

Jaheira stiffened. The words cut to a dark, walled-off place, scoring her fortifications like a wolf's claws. "Khalid's whereabouts are none of your concern, Ployer," she hissed between gritted teeth. Maera, still lagging behind in her unwitting ignorance and very willing inebriation, caught that much at least.

"I don't know who you are," she said, fixing Ployer with a hard, if unsteady, eye. "But I think you should probably shut up and go away now." The haggard man smirked.

"Oh, I will. But before I do, I have something to give dear Jaheira. A gift to thank her for all these years of unrelenting _shit_ she has given me."

There was something in his hand, Jaheira noticed too late, something that he broke with a quick, vicious tear. And as he did, a bolt of pure, white-hot agony cut through her like a blade. Her vision blanked; she couldn't breathe, and a roaring filled her ears that muffled every sound. Miles away, a chair overturned. Something smashed, and there was a scream. She pitched forward, letting the bar catch her. The solid wood connecting with her torso couldn't hurt worse than what she already felt.

An arm wrapped around her waist, and a hand brushed her face. She didn't have the strength to push either away. She turned her head towards the owner of the appendages, every degree of movement sending needles of pain into her head behind her eyes. Before her swam Maera's face, pale and stone sober. "Jaheira? Jaheira, what did he do?"

She wanted to answer, but didn't know how. The pain was making her nauseous, and all she wanted was to curl into a ball and pray it disappeared. She tried to take a step and couldn't; only the bar and her young friend's arms were keeping her upright. She heard Maera saying something to someone – the barkeep, perhaps – and then they were moving, and every step took more will than she had ever expended in her life.

But it was too much. Her whole body throbbed, her head felt as if it caught in a vise, and she could feel the darkness rushing up on her. No. She had faced pain and suffering before. She would not be beaten by it. She would not-

* * *

 

Kelsey had seen Maera and Jaheira descend into the tap room, so it was not a surprise to see them on the steps together. Except that Maera was the one who looked sober, with a limp, semi-conscious Jaheira's arm flung over her shoulders to support her. Her eyes lit on him, and he saw instantly that something was very wrong. There was an air of barely restrained panic hovering around her; this was not a case of too much drink. "Kelsey!" she hailed. "Help me."

He nodded quickly, and hurried down the stairs towards her, hesitating for an instant before reaching out for Jaheira's arm. She was not, after all, the sort of person one touched without explicit, preferably written, permission. No sooner had his hand met her sleeve than a charge raced through his fingers and up his arm, like touching a metal door handle on a dry day. He jerked his hand away. "Kelsey?" Maera shot him an odd look. "What's wrong?"

"Don't you feel it?" he asked, realizing as soon as the words were out of his mouth that of course she wouldn't.

"Feel what?"

"She's-" He steeled himself and took Jaheira's arm again, lifting it around his neck. The charge settled to a dull tingle – unpleasant, but bearable. "There's some kind of magic here," he muttered, lowering his voice out of instinct. "It's strong and it's…well, for want a better word…it's _mean_."

Maera blinked in comprehension. "Like a curse," she whispered to herself. "That's what that thing in his hand was."

"What thing in whose hand?"

She gave herself a small shake, looking back at him. "Help me get her back to her room, please."

Between the two of them, they managed to get her into her room and onto her bed. "Will you please find Minsc and Yoshimo?" Maera asked, unlacing the other woman's boots without looking up. "We need to have a meeting." Kelsey nodded, but caught himself in the doorway. He wanted to say something, but wasn't sure what, and before he could speak, Jaheira groaned, and Maera's whole attention was on her, as if the entirety of the multiverse did not exist. "Jaheira?" he heard her whisper. "Jaheira, I gonna fix this. I promise."

* * *

 

They were gathered in Jaheira's room, Maera on a chair beside the bed and Minsc hovering at the foot. Just a few days before, in the aftermath of the vampire ambush, they had been much the same, fussing over her like unnerved children. But that was who Jaheira was to them now, he realized, the anchoring presence when so many others had been ripped away. And a threat to her as a cut too close.

"I am not sure that is wise, fair friend," Yoshimo was saying. Maera glared at him.

"Wisdom has nothing to do with it! That man did something to her and I am going to figure what that was!"

"Need I remind you that our ship leaves on the morrow?"

"No, you do not! But it can wait!"

"Can it?" The thief met her furious eyes calmly, and she looked away with a sigh.

"It has to. What am I supposed to do, Yoshimo? Leave her here like this?"

"Others might, but you would not," he said quietly. "Perhaps if you told us more of this mysterious man, we might better understand the affliction he has placed on our lady druid, yes?"

Maera took a deep, thoughtful breath, but before she could speak, there was a wheezing exhalation from the bed. "Ployer," Jaheira whispered weakly. "His name is Ployer."

Kelsey's brow furrowed. "Ployer…Baron Taddeus Ployer?" Jaheira nodded once; any more than that would have made the nausea unbearable. Maera turned to Kelsey.

"You know him?"

"Of him. He was a big name here in Athkatla about twenty years ago – had a nice house in the Government District, knew all the right people, splashed around just the right amount of money. Until it came out that all that money came from trading slaves. I was too young to care at the time, but it was a huge scandal." He chuckled softly. "My father always said he would have loved to shake the hand of the person who turned over those ledgers to the authorities."

"A pity he is not here now, then," Jaheira murmured, eyes still screwed shut. Kelsey's jaw dropped.

"That was you?"

"Khalid and I followed him for months. We tracked his ships from Chult. We posed as buyers. We…encouraged his factors to find new careers. And in the end, a bookkeeper who rediscovered his conscience provided us with what we needed." A faint smile marked her pained face. "And the courts took everything from him. It was very satisfying." She swallowed hard. "We probably should not have gone to him while he was standing trial – I was gloating and full of myself. But after seeing the suffering he was willing to visit on others to line his own purse, I couldn't help it. He deserved to know." She panted, overwhelmed by the effort of so many words at once. Her eyelids flickered, and her head rolled to the side; she had lost consciousness again.

Yoshimo cocked his head. "And this man was below in the common room tonight?" Maera nodded and gave a brief summary of the altercation; the thief's eyes narrowed. "So where did he go?"

"He teleported away. Which surprised me, but I guess if he had access to one kind of magic-"

"Wait," Kelsey interrupted. "He teleported? Why were there no Cowled Wizards?"

Maera paused, blinking. "I- That's a really good question."

"One that might provide us with an avenue of investigation, perhaps?" Yoshimo offered.

"I think so," she said, eyes distant with thought. "And there's someone else I've got some questions for." She looked back at Yoshimo. "We're going to have to move fast. That ship is not leaving without us tomorrow night, so come first light, we all have to be ready.”

The thief smiled slightly. "Yokatta."

She returned the smile faintly. She'd asked him once what that meant. _It means yes_ , he'd told her _. With greatest respect_. She was glad she could rely on that. "You should all get some rest. It's going to be an early morning." Yoshimo nodded and departed; Minsc hovered, his broad brow furrowed unhappily. "You too, big guy. I'll keep an eye on her, don't worry." He sighed and slunk out, or at least as much as a man his size could slink. Kelsey thought about following him, but the sight of Maera's slumped shoulders wouldn't let him leave. She buried her face in her hands, and then he could move, resting a hand on her shoulder. He didn't know what to say, but it seemed like this was good enough.

"My gods, Kelsey," she said finally, voice muffled. "First the vampires and now this. I'm doing a really awful job of taking care of her."

There was another chair shoved in the corner of the room; he grabbed it, and sat beside her, gently angling her to face him. He took her hands in his, lowering them from her face. "I think you do a pretty good job of taking care of all of us," he told her. She chuckled sadly.

"You're being sweet again."

"Maybe, but it's the truth."

"You don't understand, Kelsey. It's my fault that-" Her voice broke. "I'm the reason she lost Khalid."

Sweet Waukeen, he hated to see her cry. He touched her face, brushing the tears away. "Irenicus killed him. How is that your fault?"

"He captured us because of me! Because he wanted something from me!"

"That still doesn't make your fault, Maera. I'm sure Jaheira doesn't blame you. If she did, do you think she'd still be with you?"

"I-" She took a deep, steadying breath. "I don't know. I just…I miss him a lot. I can't imagine how much she does."

He took both of her hands in his, brushing his thumbs over her scarred knuckles. "Tell him about him."

She was silent for a moment, staring down at their hands. "He was…the sweetest person I have ever met." She looked up at him apologetically. "Even more than you. Sorry."

He chuckled and shrugged self-consciously. "It's not a contest." She laughed a little as well, but her smile was sad.

"People thought he let Jaheira walk all over him, but…they just didn't know him well enough to understand. He had a terrible stammer, and it frustrated him. You could see it in his face sometimes, how much he _wanted_ to say something, but the words just wouldn't come. And well…Jaheira definitely doesn't have a problem talking." They shared another laugh at that. "I think it relieved him to have someone who could speak for both of them, and would. He wasn't tough, but he liked that she was." Kelsey smiled a little; he could relate to that. Maera sighed. "And he was a great friend. He was so patient and supportive, always telling me that he was proud of me. That Gorion would be proud of me. There were so many times I felt like I was flailing around lost, but he always helped nudge me back in the right direction.

"That's what made him strong. That's what made him a good man. And there's this giant, gaping hole now without him. That's why I have to take care of her, Kelsey. She will never, ever say how much it hurts, so all I can do is keep things from hurting her more."

Kelsey watched his thumb pass slowly over the back of her hand. "You're a good friend to her, Maera. The kind of friend anyone would be incredibly lucky to have."

"I have to be. She's the only family I've got right now," she whispered, and looked up at him again. "You should go to bed, Kelsey."

"What about you?"

"I'm gonna stay with her tonight."

He suppressed the urge to sigh and shake his head – consigning herself to another night on the floor like that. "Would you at least like a pillow this time?" Her eyebrows lifted, and he realized what he had said. "Not like that! Um...unless..." He swallowed. This had gone embarrassing rather quickly.

She swallowed too, eyes downcast, biting her lip in a way that prompted deeply interesting, and hastily quashed, thoughts. "Why I do feel like I'd be taking advantage of you if I said yes?"

He wanted to say that she could take as much advantage as she wanted, and more even, but that was definitely not the conversation to be had now. "You wouldn't," he said. "You really wouldn't."

She looked at him for a moment, still chewing her lip. Gorion had always taught her there was no shame in leaning on others. "This life has trials enough, child," he would say. "To think we can manage them entirely on our own is folly and arrogance." And it had always been easy to draw strength from him, and then from Imoen, and Jaheira and Khalid. But there was something different with Kelsey. And not just because of the kissing.

Actually, no, it was entirely because of the kissing. And after what had happened on the staircase earlier, after what they had said to one another - she realized she had reached the limits of her knowledge of romance and beyond this point were dragons, metaphorically speaking. There he sat with that earnest look on his face, eyebrows lifted expectantly, and it struck her that he really would do just about anything she asked, and that was frankly a bit terrifying.

But what she really wanted more than anything was not to be alone. He was telling her she didn’t have to be.

She nodded. "Okay. If you want to stay...I'd like that."

He shot her one of those adorable smiles, gave her hand a squeeze, and disappeared into the hallway, returning a moment later with an armload of blankets and pillows. They made a pallet on the floor, and settled onto it, Kelsey on his back, Maera on her side with her head on his chest, her eyes on Jaheira's bed. The steady rhythm of his heart beat soothingly in her ear. The evening's panic and stress began to loosen their hold, her shoulders relaxed, and she felt her eyelids grow heavy. How did he do it? What was it about him that put her so completely at ease?

“So how exactly does this constitute taking advantage of me?” he asked.

"Because..." Her cheeks heated. "Because this just feels _good_ , and I...” Her voice trailed off as she struggled to articulate it. “It's selfish to want someone else to make you feel good, isn't it?”

To her surprise, he chuckled softly. "It would be if the other person didn’t want to. But look at it from my perspective, Maera: You are the most amazing woman I have ever met and you _want_ me to hold you. Why wouldn’t I?"

She gave that a moment's thought. "Guess I should shut up and let you then, shouldn't I?"

"I would never tell you to shut up," he said quickly. "But..." He grinned. "Yeah."

She tilted her head up to grin back; Jaheira groaned again in her sleep, and the good humor transmuted instantly into concern. But the druid didn't wake, and Maera lay back against Kelsey's chest, worry pulling the corners of her mouth. He squeezed her shoulder (she'd noticed he was being very careful about where his hands went), and said softly, "You'll make this right, Maera. I know you will."

* * *

 

She slept fitfully that night - Jaheira’s every shift and groan, either real or imagined, snapped her back to waking. And just when she determined to give up and stay awake, she slipped into a sleep that lasted until she felt a very gentle nudge. “Hey,” Kelsey whispered. “It’s nearly dawn. We should get up.”

She blinked hard, trying to force her brain into something like a conscious mode, and saw Kelsey in the dim light of the small lamp he’d set on the bedside table. He looked as tired as she felt, and she reached up to stroke his cheek, which prompted him to lean down and kiss her very gently on the lips. “Good morning,” he breathed, and there was something weighty, and meaningful in those words. Their eyes lingered on each other for a moment, and Maera swallowed. It wasn’t just the kisses that had places to go.

“So, uh, what’s the plan?” he asked, clearing his throat. Maera sighed.

“We need to split up - run down this lead with the wizards, and check in with my hunch. I hate to leave her here alone, but...” She frowned unhappily. “I just don’t know how we can do it any other way.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Kelsey said encouragingly, and she smiled at him. She needed all the positive thinking she could get. They stepped out the door, intent on finding Yoshimo and Minsc, and walked into a shadow instead.

“Sime!” Maera yelped. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Lurking,” Sime replied calmly. “I do that professionally, you know.”

“Okay, _why_ the hell, then?”

“You have a bit of trouble, I hear. I thought I might offer my assistance.”

“Linvail’s still having us spied on? Even now?”

“Maera.” Sime smiled. “This has nothing to do with Aran. How would I be able to lurk effectively if I didn't know _where_ to lurk? I hear things, and I’m acting on what I’ve heard. So tell me the plan.”

Maera sighed. The problem with having inscrutable, endlessly devious people as allies was that they really didn’t know how to turn off the inscrutable deviousness. She laid out what had happened, what they knew about Ployer, and their potential avenues of intelligence. Sime listened thoughtfully, and nodded. “Then it sounds like what you really need is someone to stay here and keep an eye on Jaheira. I can do that.”

Maera blinked at her. “Why?”

“We have a boat to catch tonight, remember? You made a deal with Aran, and it's my job to see that nothing interferes with the fulfillment of that obligation. So do what you need to. Jaheira will be safe with me.”

“Thank you,” Maera said slowly. Perhaps it was just the stress and short sleep of the previous night, but she could almost feel tears of gratitude starting to wet her eyes. Sime smiled.

“My pleasure. Though...I do have one suggestion. About making a run at the Cowlies.” She gave Kelsey a through once-over. “How comfortable are you with acting?”

* * *

 

Kelsey tugged at the collar of his robe uncomfortably. It wasn't the one with runes embroidered on the collar and cuffs, the one he wore to protect against fire and swords, the one he had surprisingly grown accustomed to, but rather one he hadn't worn in well over a year. One with the Coltrane family crest emblazoned on the right breast, for all that meant these days. They were passing through the gate into the Government District, and he was trying to ignore Yoshimo's smirk. “What?” he grumbled.

“I said nothing at all,” the thief replied, his smile of bland amusement still fully in play. “I merely play the role of the humble bodyguard in our charade, so it is not my place to have opinions.”

“Sorry. This is just...not exactly in my comfort zone. I'm putting myself in front of people who'd probably vivisect me if they got half a chance, so I'm a little on edge.”

“But for our fair leader you do it regardless.”

Kelsey shot him another sour look. “Of course. Maera is- We’re-” He frowned, his tongue tied by the limitations of Common. _“I love you,”_ she'd said, laughing, and it had been perfect. It just made so much _sense_ , everything summed up in three words. But even three words, and especially those three, could never be an easy summation for someone else. Why wasn't there just one word, one nice, simple encapsulation of it all?

“Yes, you are.” Yoshimo said, and Kelsey turned to face him.

“Is that a problem, Yoshimo?”

Yoshimo lifted an eyebrow, the smile replaced by perhaps the most sober expression Kelsey had ever seen him wear. “My young friend, I am not such a fool as to reach for what I should not. Now, let us be about our business. Time is of the essence, yes?”

Kelsey nodded, fussing at his robe for the thousandth time, and Yoshimo's smile returned as if it had never been gone. The Council of Six building loomed before them, but fortunately, the Cowled Wizards did not make themselves difficult to find. A small reception desk marked with their sigil sat to the right side of the great common hall, and Kelsey took a deep breath. “Stay to the plan, and we will learn what we have come for,” Yoshimo murmured, and he nodded again, tightly. Then, summoning up the ghost of every rude, irate, and unappeasable customer he had ever found himself on the opposite side of the counter from, Kelsey marched up to the desk.

“I would like to speak to someone in authority immediately,” he announced.

The wizard behind the desk gazed up at him with the dispirited eyes of one who had _not_ wanted to start his day like this. “Can I help you, sir?”

“I've already told you what I need,” Kelsey snapped. “I was witness to a _shocking_ event last night on the Docks, and I would like to know why nothing was done about it!”

“Sir, the City Watch's desk is on the other side of the receiving hall.”

“This is not a matter for the Watch! There was an altercation at the Sea's Bounty Tavern yesterday evening-”

“Which _would_ be a matter for the Watch, sir.”

“An altercation that ended with one of the participants TELEPORTING away in the sight of the entire common room!” Heads turned as his voice rose, and the wizard raised a placating hand, shifting awkwardly in his seat. “And no sign of you people, either!”

“Sir, please...keep your voice down. I'll fetch someone right away.”

“Thank you.” Kelsey tugged his sleeves peevishly. On the one hand, getting to yell at a Cowled Wizard was rather cathartic. On the other, he was sweating like a Helmite at a Sharessan orgy.

Yoshimo, for his part, surveyed the scene. Kelsey's outburst had drawn no shortage of curious eyes, most of which had returned to their own affairs when the initial excitement was done. But two wizards lurked near a pillar, watching Kelsey put on a reasonable show of fuming, and muttering to each other. He eased closer, ears opened to their conversation. This might be even easier than they had hoped.

“-should have known Ployer would bungle this,” hissed the taller of the two.

“What was he thinking?” moaned the other. “He wasn't supposed to use either of those charms in public!”

“The man's incapable of following even the simplest direction,” said the first.

“What do we do now, Terrece?”

Yoshimo took that as his cue. “How permanent a solution do you require?” The wizards started.

“Who the hells are you?” Terrece spluttered.

“Someone who could not help but overhear your distress, and might be inclined to help.”

The wizard glared at him. “That’s very generous of you, Sir Knight. How does the rest of the Radiant Heart feel about your quest?”

“Terrece!” His companion shushed him. “As permanent as possible, honestly. A man was asking around about people willing to provide him with certain magical aides-“

“And we needed the money,” Terrece interjected.

“I understand entirely,” Yoshimo said solemnly. “Side work is the curse of the underpaid.”

“So we made him the charms he wanted – a couple of curses, some teleportation talismans if he ran into any trouble – and we thought that’d be the end of it. Money for goods, you know?”

“Of course.”

“Only he used them in a damn public tavern! Where people like _that_ –“ Terrece cast a scornful look at Kelsey, who was currently being assured of the Cowled Wizards’ determination to Get To The Bottom Of This – “can come crying to management and get us all in trouble!”

“He does have very strong opinions about the public use of magic,” Yoshimo said blandly. He caught Kelsey’s eye, and dipped a quick nod to him. _Success_ , the gesture said. “Tell me more about this…Ployer, you called him? Perhaps we three can reach an arrangement of our own.”

* * *

 

Maera knew she was tall. And she knew that was intimidating for some people, especially men. And she also knew what when she stood with Minsc at her back that effect was increased tenfold. So she took care not to abuse that power, and use it only for special occasions.

Bernard did not seem pleased that this was a special occasion.

The barkeep of the Copper Coronet was blessed with more horizontal potential than vertical, and he frowned at their paired scrutiny. “Now haven’t I been helpful already?” he huffed.

“And you’re welcome, by the way,” Maera replied. “Off-hand, I’d said Hendak’s kind of a better boss, isn’t he?”

Bernard sighed in concession. “A bugbear with hemorrhoids would be a better boss than Lehtinan, but fair’s fair. What can I do for you?”

“You and Jaheira knew each other, years ago, when she was here on Harper business.”

“Aye. She and I was always oil and water, but I liked Khalid, and I figured if him and Belgrade and the others thought she was a peach, she couldn’t be all sharp edges. Why do you ask?”

“So you knew them during the Ployer investigation?”

“Ooooh. Ployer. There’s a name that takes me back. That was a bad one.” He shook his head. “Ployer didn’t just sell slaves. He sold to anybody, for any reason. _Any_ reason.” Maera felt her mouth turn. She was fairly certain she understood his intimation. Bernard cocked a bushy gray eyebrow at her. “What's this about?”

“Has anyone been asking around about her lately?”

“There's been a lot of questions about _you_ – you weren't exactly subtle when you started smashing up the fighting rings, you know.”

Maera colored. “I'm talking about Jaheira.”

Bernard scratched his ear thoughtfully. “Now that you mention it...yeah. There was this squirrelly fella – he _looked_ like most of the regulars, but he didn't talk like 'em. Like he'd been money but wasn't anymore.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth,” Bernard shrugged. “That she'd been here, in your company, and I didn't know any more than that, because she's not the type to send a card for Highcoin. And then there was those two Cowlies, but I sent them off without a pearl, because there's some even I won't do business with.”

“The squirrelly one – had you ever seen him before? Did you know him?”

“He showed up a night or two after you took off with that De'Arnise girl. Hadn't ever seen him before then. And he'd come back, every other night or so. But I guess he got tired of waiting, because it's been a near a tenday since I saw him hanging around. Dunno why he stopped.”

Maera glanced up at Minsc, and she could see in his narrowed eyes that he'd worked through the timeline too. “Because he found her.”

“What'd he want?”

“Revenge, apparently. Do you know anything else about him?”

“'Fraid not, my girl. He didn't seem to be the card at Highcoin type either.”

Maera dropped a small stack of coins onto the bar. “Thanks anyway, Bernard.” She sighed heavily as they turned for the doors. “I hope Kelsey and Yoshimo have had more luck than we have, big guy.”

“We can ask them,” Minsc said.

“Yeah, we can, but-”

“Because there they are!”

They were, and a more welcome sight Maera could not have imagined. “Please tell me you have good news,” she said.

“Considering I was mostly there as a distraction,” Kelsey replied, “I'll let Yoshimo tell it.”

Yoshimo sketched a small bow and smiled. “We do indeed have good news, fair friend. Ployer gained the curse he used on Lady Jaheira from a pair of financially embarrassed Cowled Wizards, but his public use of it has only embarrassed them further. And they were more than happy to tell me how to locate him in return of my promise that I would handle the situation.”

Maera smiled grimly. “I think you mean that _we_ will handle it. Just point me in the right direction.”

* * *

 

Once, Taddeus Ployer had lived amongst the first water of Athkatla’s great and good, in a house with an atrium and a hypocaust and a wine cellar stocked with the finest vintages in the Realms. But that was all long gone, taken by the courts of the Council of the Six, because there was some merchandise even they could not countenance selling, and they had levied the harshest sentence they could. Asset forfeiture was the Amnish equivalent of cutting off a thief’s hand.

So now he lived here, in the basement room of a thoroughly shabby boarding house on a block where shabbiness was an aspiration. Maera felt for the people who had to live like this, but Ployer had it coming.

“Ployer?” She gave the splintery door a solid, booming knock. “Ployer!” No answer.

Minsc smiled brightly; she knew what he was thinking, and it almost broke her heart to tell him no. “I don’t think the landlord would approve, Minsc. And we’re already pretty eye-catching as is. Yoshimo?” Minsc deflated as Yoshimo picked the cheap lock with an expression that disapproved of how little it was making him work, and Kelsey gave the big man’s arm a pat of careful sympathy.

The room within was empty, and Maera made a face. “He’d better not keep me waiting,” she muttered. Yoshimo glanced about with a practiced eye.

“A far fall from the Government District,” he said.

The four of them barely fit in Ployer’s tiny lodgings. “If he’s living like this, how’d he manage to pay those Wizards?” Maera wondered.

“It’s all about priorities, I guess,” Kelsey replied. There was a noise in the hall – Ployer appeared in the doorway, and seeing his unexpected guests, turned to flee. Minsc caught him by the collar.

“I have nothing to say to you!” he blustered.

“Too bad,” Maera said, “because you’re going to break the curse you put on my friend one way or the other.”

“Break it?” he snorted. “She _ruined_ me. This is her doing!”

“You don’t appear to have a very good grasp of cause and effect, _Mr._ Ployer. You paid those Wizards to make you a curse charm, and you were the one who used it, so I’d say that covers whose doing it was. And don’t try to feed me any crap about there not being a counter-curse. I know good and well there’s no way to make a curse charm _without_ making its counter, so starting talking, or you will discover how encouraging my large friend here can be.”

Minsc, who always enjoyed this part, twisted Ployer’s collar, riding it up around the man’s neck. “I threw it away!” the ex-baron squeaked defiantly. The enjoyment cooled, and the twist tightened.

Maera narrowed her eyes. “Don’t choke him, Minsc. He doesn’t deserve it.” She leaned closer to Ployer’s unwashed face, arms crossed. “I think you’re lying. I think you’ve spent years scrimping and saving, dreaming of the day you’d be able to do this, and having that counter-charm makes you feel powerful, because you know Jaheira is suffering right now, and you could end that. But I’ve found you now, so your little revenge fantasy is over. Give it to me, because I am actually much scarier than the big guy.”

Ployer met her gaze, tried to hold it, swallowed hard against his wadded collar, and looked away. “In my tunic pocket,” he muttered.

Before Maera had time to wonder whether she should put on her gloves before reaching into the man’s filthy clothes, Yoshimo extended a hand. “These, then?” he asked innocently. On his palm lay two round tokens. The center of one looked as if it had been burned away with a candle.

“The burned one,” Ployer said, his tone colorless. Maera carefully took it from Yoshimo’s hand, turning it in her fingers.

“Your wizards did good work,” she said, and crushed the counter-charm in her fist. The dust sifted between her fingers, becoming a new addition to the strata of dirt on Ployer’s tunic. He swallowed again, and she nodded to Minsc. “I think we’re done here.”

She did not deign to spare him a second look as they filed out, but Kelsey lingered in the doorway. “Twenty years,” he said. “And for what? For this? You may have never had a mansion again, but you still had the chance to at least live decently, and you wasted your time and money on pointless revenge!”

“Decently.” Ployer chuckled humorlessly, then fixed a narrowed gaze on Kelsey’s face. “You’re Eila Coltrane’s boy, aren’t you? You look like him. And by Waukeen, you sound like him too.”

“Good. Then I’m doing something right.”

Ployer snorted. “Always thought self-righteousness must be a nice warm blanket, the way people like your father liked to wrap up in it. Maybe I should have looked into that instead of trying to buy heat the old-fashioned way.”

Kelsey sighed, looking at Ployer’s pinched, worn face, and something occurred to him. He reached into a lower pocket of his robe, and withdrew his back-up money pouch. (“Never keep all your coins in one purse,” as the saying went.) He threw it towards Ployer, who fumbled the projectile in surprise before catching it. “Get a haircut and a shave,” Kelsey said. “Get some new clothes, and then get out of Athkatla. And don’t waste the next twenty years of your life.”

* * *

 

Jaheira returned to consciousness suddenly – that was a more accurate description that waking, for she had not been asleep, but rather lost in a blinding haze of pain that had occasionally done her the kindness of retreating to mere agony. She had felt her body shutting down, giving up one part, one system at a time, though not without a fight. And the battles made it all the worse. Her digestion ceased, her liver and kidneys began to fail, and somewhere in a part of her brain not seized with the animal panic of a malfunctioning body, she had wondered when heart and breath would follow suit. So it was with some surprise that she found herself suddenly clear-eyed and pain free.

The late afternoon sun slanted through the window, filling the room with orange light. In a chair by the bed, feet propped on the footboard, sat a slim figure in black. Jaheira tried her voice. “Sime?”

The thief looked up. “Oh good. Maera must have found Ployer.”

The meaning of that statement sank in. “Yes. I suppose she did.” She peered at Sime. “And you stayed with me?”

“Don’t worry. I brought something to occupy myself.” Sime held up a tiny embroidery hoop, no bigger that the palm of her hand. “I used to hate needlework when I was younger, but I’ve found it helps to have something to do with my hands. Besides, the needles can come in handy for other things.” Jaheira blinked, processing that as Sime stood. “They’ll back soon, I’d say. Feel up to some food?”

* * *

 

It was a good think they had already finished the bulk of their packing the evening before, Kelsey thought, because by the time they got back to the Sea’s Bounty, it was almost sunset. Jaheira was waiting, dressed and groomed, and so much restored to herself that she immediately informed them that the entire scheme had been incredibly foolish, and thanked them. There followed a mad scramble to make sure everything was in order for their departure – and then no one could find Maera.

She hadn’t gone far, having only pulled a chair from the common room back under the overhang of the staircase landing. “There you are!” Kelsey said, and she looked up from the object of her absorbed attention with some little guilt.

“Sorry,” she said. “I just…needed a minute to think.”

“We’re leaving for the dock in a quarter hour,” he said. “I don’t want to rush you, but…”

“I know.” She stood, and Kelsey got a better look at what was in her hand – the other counter charm Yoshimo had taken from Ployer. “It was for Khalid,” she whispered. “Ployer didn’t know he was dead. He had the Wizards make two, one for him and one for Jaheira, and this one was for him.” She closed her fist over it. “I wish I could just crush it, like the other one, and he would be alright again.”

Kelsey covered her hand with his. “I wish you could too.”

Her eyes, endlessly dark and warm as the sunlight, met his. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be,” he said honestly.

She slipped the token into a pocket, never taking her eyes from his. Then she took his face between her hands and kissed him. Every bit of thought melted under the heat of her lips, the rest of reality dropping away so that even the sound of booted feet on the stairs above them registered only in the most vague and insignificant way. And just when he was starting to feel truly adventurous about the placement of his hands (and encouraged by the enthusiastic pressure of her body against his), Jaheira poked her head around the corner of the stairwell and said, “This is becoming a trend, I see.”

 


	10. All Mad Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Bad timing all around."_

Perhaps, Maera mused, her propensity for getting along so well with thieves was the ultimate expression of her questionable parentage. Because she really quite liked Sime. Her straightforward manner and blunt sense of humor were refreshing, and as there was little else to do abroad Saemon Haverian’s small ship, they had wiled away several days in conversation. It was nice to have someone to spend the time with; she and Kelsey had been purposefully avoiding one another, as best they could, since Jaheira had walked in on them (again) belowdecks, just as things were starting to get interesting. Mortified, they were doing their best to avoid temptation by keeping their distance, but it really only seemed to provide Jaheira with even more amusement. Sime at least had the decency to keep it to herself, and they had spent much of their time at the fore of the ship in conversation.

That morning, they sat in their now-regular spot, watching the sunlight sparkle on the waves. “Linvail didn't just send you with us to keep an eye on us, did he?” Maera asked.

“We prefer to consider it due diligence in the keeping of our bargain,” Sime replied calmly. Maera rolled her eyes, and the other woman smiled. “But you are right. He also sent me because I've been to Brynnlaw before. Granted, that was seven years ago, but it's a pretty provincial place. I doubt it's changed that much.”

“Seven years? But that story you were telling me last night, about you and Linvail and how he became Shadowmaster-”

“Was hardly finished. I told you it was a long story, didn't I?”

“So this was after your fight with the guy with the hook?”

“Treton Wey, yes. The fight that Linvail had to save my miserable hide from. He'd saved my life, yet again, and I just couldn't face him anymore. So I skipped town.”

“And went to Brynnlaw?”

Sime shrugged. “I'd heard about it from my old friend Sanik – he was, and is, a mate on a ship that used Brynnlaw as a wintering port. I hired a ship, and ran like the coward I was. Spent a month or two moping around the island feeling sorry for myself until Sanik finally talked sense into me and sent me home. That was when things got _really_ interesting.”

Maera grinned, but keen as she was for more tales of underworld derring-do, her restlessness was especially keen this morning, and she shifted anxiously. Sime noticed.

“So you’ve never been to sea before?” she asked. “You handle it far better than most first-timers.”

“Well, I was a bit queasy the first day,” Maera said modestly.

“Your poor ranger friend hasn’t been so lucky.” Maera tried not to snicker. Minsc had been so violently seasick that he’d tried to make Jaheira swear a sacred oath to care for Boo upon his imminent death. Her response had been a sleeping draught so strong he hadn’t wakened since. “But he won’t have to suffer much longer,” Sime continued. “Havarian says we’re two days out from Brynnlaw. He may as well have 'opportunist' tattooed on his forehead, but he knows these waters, I’ll give him that.” Maera did not reply, but leaned against the rail, eyes fixed on the horizon. Sime shot her a knowing look. “You won't have to suffer much longer either. The boat really is faster than jumping in and swimming, even if it doesn't feel like it.”

Maera leaned back, chastened. “I know. It’s just…it’s almost over. We’ll get Imoen back, and then…well, I don’t know what, but it won’t involve crazed, experiment happy mages.” Her fists clenched. “I hope they’ve got Irenicus in the deepest hole they could find.”

“I’m sure the Cowlies find him fascinating.” Sime said. “It’s not as if there is a shortage of mad mages under the streets of Athkatla, but most of them manage to avoid drawing too much attention by doing something flashy. Like kidnapping well-known adventuring parties and blowing up half of Waukeen’s Promenade.”

“I still wonder what his connection to Bodhi is. Hopefully, it doesn’t matter now. For your sake, anyways.”

Sime grinned. “I had no idea you cared.”

“What can I say? You and your merry band of thieves have wormed your way into my heart.”

“My gods, that’s terrible.” There was a commotion below decks, scuffling and shouting, and Sime’s eyebrows went up. “Sounds like Yoshimo is teaching the crew to play cards. Again.”

Maera shook her head. “When will they learn?”

“When they run out of money.” They laughed, and fell into silence, watching the ocean slip by. She took a deep breath, the salt air prickling her nose. _Soon, Im. I’ll be there soon_.

* * *

 

They arrived in Brynnlaw on the evening tide. Maera helped Minsc wobble down the gangplank, and as they reached the dock, they looked about them. In the last light of the fading sun, the whitewashed stucco buildings of the tiered town glowed faintly, clustered close to the docks. “Where’s Spellhold?” Maera asked.

“North of town,” Sime replied, “on the other side of the hills. We’ll want to head to the Vulgar Monkey, see if we can run down my Sanik. His ship's run supplies for the Wizards for years - he’ll be able to tell you how to get in.”

“The Vulgar Monkey,” Kelsey repeated. “I don’t know why more people don’t come here.”

Saemon Havarian oozed among them, exuding good cheer. “Well, my friends, you are safely delivered, as per our arrangement. I do wish for the swift conclusion of your business. I wouldn’t want to be gone from the mainland for an undue length of time.”

“None of us do, Captain,” Maera replied. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Saemon grab Yoshimo’s sleeve and whisper something to the thief, who nodded. As the captain walked back towards his ship, she asked, “What was that about, Yoshimo?”

He started, opened his mouth, and closed it again. With a sudden smile, he replied smoothly, “The good captain was warning me that some of his crew were feeling vengeful after their losses on the voyage. Apparently, I should watch my step.”

She chewed on her lower lip, vaguely troubled for some reason she couldn’t quite identify. “That’s good of him, I suppose.”

* * *

 

The Vulgar Monkey tavern and inn was not a dive, though it seemed to desperately wish it could be. The obvious goal in décor and mood was to be the seediest place any of them had ever visited. Maera didn’t know what it said about her that she had, in fact, seen worse. Some coin passed to the barkeep revealed that Sime’s friend Sanik was already there in the common room, nervously nursing a drink, his hood drawn despite the warmth of the room. He was pointedly sitting with his back to the wall. As they approached, he tensed, then said, “Sime? What are you doing here? I thought you were too busy running Athkatla with the Shadowmaster to be too far afield these days.”

“And I still am. My area of influence has just momentarily expanded.” Sime reached out to clasp his forearm and smiled as she sat across from him. “This is Maera. I can vouch for her. She was hoping you could tell her about how to get into Spellhold.”

“Why would anyone want to get _in_ to Spellhold?” Sanik scoffed. He held up a hand, forestalling Maera’s explanation. “Not that it’s my business anyway.” He turned his attention back to Sime. “You’re lucky you got here when you did. I intend to be gone on the tide by this time tomorrow. I just have some business of my own to attend to first.”

Sime’s eyes lit with professional interest. “Anything exciting?”

“ _Personal_ business. I'll tell you later.” He motioned for the rest of them to sit. “If you’re crazy enough to want to get into Spellhold, that’s between you and your gods. The Wizards keep a tight hand on the place. You can’t just traipse on in. It’s gone quiet lately, though. I don’t think anyone’s passed the gates for nearly a month.” He scratched his cheek thoughtfully and shrugged. “Anyway, there are a couple of ways to go abou-” There was a faint buzzing noise, Maera felt something whiz past her ear, and suddenly Sanik was face down on the table with a dart lodged in his left eye, blood pooling around his head.

The room went silent. Yoshimo reacted first. He made for a table on the other side of the common room and plucked a hooded gnome up from his seat. “What is the meaning of this?” he snarled.

“A job’s a job,” the gnome grumbled, with all the bluster he could manage being dangled eighteen inches off the floor. He appraised Yoshimo, noting the similarities in their garb. “You should know that. And Lady Galvena pays real good not to ask questions.”

“Who’s Galvena?” Maera demanded, starting from her seat. “Why did she want this man dead?”

The gnome flipped her a rude gesture in response. Stretching his foot, a small blade emerged from the toe of his boot. He kicked, aiming for Yoshimo’s gut, but the thief was not caught unawares and threw the gnome hard against the bar. The small figure landed at just the wrong angle.

“Here now!” The barkeep protested. “You broke his neck!”

Maera advanced on the bar angrily. “What the hell just happened? I needed that man’s information, and he’s been assassinated right under my nose!”

“Galvena’s tying up her loose ends, looks like.” She tapped her fingers on the bar, waiting for him to elaborate. He sighed. “If you want companionship in Brynnlaw, you go through the Lady. Sanik was in love with one of her girls; Claire, I think her name was. He did a piss-poor job of hiding it, too, if you ask me. I’d say he was lucky Galvena waited this long.”

Conversation slowly began to fill the room again. Maera glanced over her shoulder. Sime had rolled Sanik onto his back on the table. He looked surprised. “Poor Sanik,” she muttered, shaking her head. She tossed the bartender a coin for his information. “This place is insane.”

* * *

 

There was a small alcove at the end of the long, dim back hallway their rooms were located on. A pair of narrow windows looked out on the harbor of Brynnlaw, lit through the night by huge, swaying oil lamps. Maera saw Kelsey’s reflection in the glass as he approached. “Not much of a town, huh?” she asked. He shook his head. “Though I guess it makes sense that the Cowled Wizards would have their prison here.” She rubbed her face disbelievingly. “A prison for people who use magic. I still can’t even fathom it.”

Kelsey shrugged slightly. “It’s more about control these days than any real fear of magic. The Cowled Wizards have to justify their existence after all these years.”

“Yeah, but…they’d haul _you_ off, given half an excuse. And you’re the most normal person I know!”

His expression was vaguely incredulous. “Really?”

She turned to face him, smiling. “Okay, Jaheira _is_ fairly normal, all things considered. But Minsc thinks his hamster can talk.” Kelsey had to chuckle at that. “Though,” she continued thoughtfully, “we don’t actually have any evidence that Boo _can’t_ talk. We shouldn’t discount it just because none of the rest of us have heard him.”

“That’s very open-minded of you.”

“Being receptive to new ideas is a central precept of the Lorekeeper,” she replied piously. Her straight face only lasted for a moment and she laughed quietly before sobering again. “That said, though…it’s still such an alien mindset to me.”

“Well, I hope you don’t think badly of Amn anyway,” he said with a faint smile.

“Actually, what I’ve seen of Amn so far, I like. I’ve liked the people.” She gave him a playful poke to the sternum. “Some of them have been very welcoming.”

His smile broadened, and he slid the palms of his hands against hers, catching her fingers in his. “They’re the ones with common sense.”

She slowly bent her arms back so his hands were behind her; he got the hint and released her hands to hold her waist. “Common sense, huh?” She rested her forearms on his shoulders, hands behind his head.

“Absolutely. It’s always a good idea to be nice to insanely talented warrior women who can kill a dozen vampires before breakfast.”

“I’d had breakfast!”

His smile grew a bit lopsided. “And it makes it very easy to be nice when said warrior woman is intelligent, funny, generous, and incredibly attractive.”

He was at it again. She shook her head fondly. “What am I going to do with you?”

To her surprise, he colored, inhaled deeply, opened his mouth…and closed it quickly. “I, uh…I’m not going to answer that right now. There's definitely an answer, but...” He kissed her quickly, and stepped back from the embrace. “Sleep well, okay?”

“Okay. Good night.” She watched him walk back up the hall, wondering what exactly that was about, before turning back to the window.

“Just give him a tumble and have done. You’ll both be happier.”

She hadn’t seen Sime’s reflection at all, of course. She narrowed her eyes crossly. “Sime, you were spying. Shame on you.”

“Shame on _me_? I’m not the one who let that obviously willing young man go to bed alone.”

Maera sighed, determined to leave that statement where it belonged – in a corner far from the rest of the conversation. Sime chuckled and stood beside her, looking down onto the sleeping town. “By the way, Sime…I’m sorry about your friend.”

Sime sobered, her eyes suddenly very far away. “Bad timing all around,” she said softly. “I was wrong. Brynnlaw’s obviously changed a lot since I was here last. I’ll go out early, in the morning. See what I can find out.”

“Thank you.”

“It's my job, isn’t it?”

* * *

 

She dreamed that night of Candlekeep. This was not unusual; her dreams frequently returned her there. But that night, instead of the library or the courtyard or her old room, she was in the Inn. Imoen was with her, and they ran, hand in hand like children, through hallways and rooms, something at their heels. Something dark and formless, grasping of hand and hungry of maw, followed them, and Maera knew it did not want her. It was after Imoen, and she would not let it have her. Not without a fight.

Even within the dream, she knew the Inn had never been so huge, so full of empty space, but even magnified by dreaming, it was not large enough. They couldn’t outrun the stalking darkness for long. They fled into a storeroom, crouching among the barrels and boxes, but the thing would find them soon. Imoen’s eyes glistened with tears of panic and dread, and Maera gripped her hands tightly. She could feel the bowstring calluses on Imoen’s fingers, and the fine, bird-like bones beneath. She said the only thing she could think of, the only comfort she could offer.

“Are we not two parts of a greater whole, you and I? If our own defenses fail, we must stand for each other!”

The door swung open, and she woke.

She stared up at the ceiling, still trying to separate reality from dream as her pulse slowed. She suddenly, absurdly, wished for Kelsey, and found herself briefly entertaining the idea of getting up and going to his room. No, that would not be a good idea. She rolled onto her side, forcing slow, measured breaths. “It’ll be okay,” she whispered to herself. “We’ll find Im, and it’ll be okay.” She realized she was holding her pillow as if it were another person, and sighed heavily. “And going to Kelsey’s room would be a bad idea.” Maybe if she repeated it enough, she would believe it.

* * *

 

“So am I to understand that we are marching on the festhall of this Galvena on the off chance Sanik told his lady friend the information we sought from him?” Yoshimo asked the next morning.

Maera gave him an ugly look. “Stop it, Yoshimo,” she said. “I have also considered the possibility that this plan is born out of some misplaced do-gooding after what happened last night, or maybe I just feel sorry for the girl. I don’t know! But we are up the proverbial creek at the moment, and I don’t see any paddles!” She was in a foul mood. The dream had rattled her more than she cared to admit, and the intelligence Sime had gathered for them was not at all encouraging.

Galvena ruled the whores of Brynnlaw with an iron grip that would make a Zhent cough uncomfortably about personal freedom, and any attempts at competition tended to end up as shark food. Her monopoly on the flesh trade was absolute, and the unfortunates caught in it were little better than slaves.

Maera knew it was a long shot. But just maybe, they would learn something useful. After all, she had gambled on worse odds before and won. And if nothing else, she reasoned, kicking around someone who profited in the misery of others would make her feel better.

But it was mostly doubt ringing in her ears as she led her party through the sandy streets of Brynnlaw to the garish hall near the docks that served as Galvena’s base of operations. Crude, brightly colored graffiti covered the walls, no doubt advertising the dubious delights within. Maera felt the beginnings of a blush creeping up her neck, but then sternly reminded herself she’d seen better (or worse, depending on one’s point of view) in the margins of the books in Candlekeep. A gaggle of scantily clad, gaudily painted prostitutes of both sexes loitered about, half-heartedly displaying their wares. One, a girl with obviously dyed blond hair and heavily rouged cheeks, caught sight of them and said warily, “Oh. A group.”

Pity jabbed at Maera’s heart. “Nobody’s here for that. I just need some questions answered.”

“Like what?”

“Do you know a girl named Claire?”

A whisper ran through the group. “Maybe. Why?”

“Sanik married her,” said a dark girl whose hair was dressed in elaborate braids. The blonde who’d spoken first shot her a reproving glare, but she continued, “Well he did! One of his shipmates is a priest of Selûne, and they got married. They were gonna get off the island tonight, but the Lady found out and locked her up. Poor Claire.”

“And poor Sanik,” Maera replied. “Galvena had him killed right in front of me last night.”

None of the prostitutes looked surprised. The blonde, struggling to regain her role as spokesperson, said, “What do you want with her anyway? She’s as good as dead. You don’t cross the Lady.”

“Claire may know something that can help me,” Maera said. But looking at them, dead eyed and hopeless, she knew that the information wasn’t what really mattered at the moment. “But I think this may be something I need to take up with Galvena. Forcefully.”

A pair of guards stopped them as they entered the festhall. “We’re here to see Galvena,” Maera said calmly. The guards eyed them and gulped, but the senior of them stuck to the script.

“Lady Galvena is not receiving visitors,” he muttered nervously.

Maera scowled. She was not in the mood. “Minsc, convince them.”

The ranger casually lifted the one who’d spoken with his left hand and lined up his punch with his right. The guard, seeing his afterlife reflected in Minsc’s gleaming plate gauntlet, squeaked, “Okay! Okay, we’ll take you to her!” Minsc, clearly disappointed, lowered him back to his feet.

The guards led them through a warren of hallways and down a flight of steps. As they approached a barred door, they heard the sound of fists striking flesh. It made Maera’s own fists itch.

The junior guard rapped on the door. “L-lady Galvena. You have guests.”

“I said I was not to be disturbed. Send them away!” An imperious female voice replied from within.

“They, um…they were very insistent.”

There was a huffy sigh, and a moment later, the door swung open to reveal a bare, windowless room. There were three people before them – a burly nondescript man in mail, a woman of mature years who might have still been beautiful if she’d accepted time’s passage with a little more grace, and a young woman with dark curls, tied to a chair. She was slumped forward, obviously dazed, and what could be seen of her face was a mass of bruises and swelling.

“Who the hell are you?” Galvena snapped.

“We’re here for Claire,” Maera said. She took a step towards the bound girl, but Galvena’s thug stepped between them. Maera sized him up. Average height, bulky build, and the sort of face that had seen too many brawls and too few healers. “Call him off, Galvena,” she said evenly, keeping her eyes on the man, “or I move him.”

“What do you want with her?”

“She may have information we need.” She continued to eye the thug. “Like to beat up girls, do you?” He sneered at her, and it was almost cute, the way he seemed to think she could be one of that number. She wasted no time dispelling that particular illusion as she jabbed at his throat hard with her right elbow, followed by her left fist into his cheek. He dropped to his knees, and Minsc stepped over him, easily ripped the bounds that held Claire, and scooped her into his arms. The girl groaned, and he gently patted her hair. “We’ll be going now,” Maera said.

Galvena’s eyes bulged with fury. “What do you think you’re doing? That girl belongs to me!”

Maera turned, pursing her lips. “See, Galvena, I think that’s our primary point of contention. I was raised in a philosophical tradition that teaches every person belongs to his or her own self, so really, Claire only belongs to you if _she_ says she does.” The madam stared at her. “What, too esoteric?”

“GUARDS!”

“Apparently.” Galvena had good lungs. They could hear booted feet on the stairs. “All right, then, we do this the uncivilized way.” Maera grabbed Galvena by the collar of her gaudy gown and dragged her bodily across the room, pausing to kick at the recovering thug on the floor. “You too, sunshine.”

“Change of management, boys!” She announced to the guards as she hauled Galvena out into the hallway. They stopped short, staring. “I assume nobody here is paid well enough to do anything stupid for this woman?” Silently, they parted to allow her up the stairs as Galvena squawked in indignation. “Thought so.”

They trooped outside, where their appearance was met with gasps from the assembled prostitutes. Minsc carefully lay Claire down, and Jaheira touched glowing hands to her face. The swelling receded, revealing pretty, very young features. Her eyes opened and, looking bewildered, she allowed Jaheira to help her to her feet. She looked around, taking in her changed surroundings, and her gaze lighted on Galvena, who stood pinned in Maera’s grasp. She closed her eyes and heaved a pained sigh.

“Sanik’s dead, isn’t he?”

“I am afraid so,” Jaheira said gently.

“And it was her doing, wasn’t it?”

“It was.”

Her chin quivered, and tears welled in her eyes, but she stifled herself with a deep breath. “You saved my life. Why?”

“Because I need something from you,” Maera admitted, guilt gnawing at her in the face of Claire’s grief. “I need to know how to get into Spellhold. A very dear friend of mine is being held there, and…I’m getting desperate.” She glanced at the sand under her boots. “I know Sanik knew how to get in. I was hoping maybe he’d told you.”

Claire considered this in silence, then nodded thoughtfully. “You’ll need to talk to Perth. He lives on the north edge of town – nice, two-story house, you can’t miss it. Most people think he’s just another hermit mage, but he’s actually a Cowled Wizard. He has some sort of talisman that lets him through the wards.”

Maera closed her eyes and exhaled with relief. “Thank you, Claire. Is there anything else we can do for you? Anything at all?”

Claire looked over her shoulder at the festhall behind her and her sad eyes hardened with hatred. “I’d love to watch that place burn to the ground. Can you do that for me?”

Galvena, who had been standing docilely in Maera’s grip, suddenly jerked and sputtered with pure rage. Maera calmly tightened her hands as Kelsey said, “Actually, I think that can be arranged.” He tapped one of the boys on the shoulder. “Make sure there’s no one inside. Then give me five minutes.”

Minsc, Yoshimo, and a pair of the now ex-prostitutes rousted the guards and about a dozen others from within, and Kelsey disappeared into the emptied festhall. The crowd whispered as the minutes stretched. There was a sudden roar like a great gust of wind, and brilliant white-orange flames appeared along the roofline. Blue smoke, smelling heavily of burnt wood and charred earth, rose in an ever-thickening plume over the festhall. The fire quickly spread, and Galvena moaned, “No! That was my life’s work!”

“Then I feel very sorry for you,” Maera said. A moment later, Kelsey appeared from the flames, cloak not even smoldering, and she had to repress a whistle of appreciation. She had to face facts. Knowing him was turning her into a bit of pyromaniac. But the fire itself was probably only so attractive because of its source.

“What about her?” someone asked from the crowd, pointing at Galvena.

“Oh, her?” Maera loosed her grip and gave Galvena a shove towards them. “That’s really up to you.”

Galvena stared at her in shock. “You can’t leave me here!”

“And why should I protect you from the consequences of your own actions? Give me one good reason, Galvena.” Maera said icily. The madam was silent. “That's what I thought. If I were you, I’d pray that every single one of them is a better person than you’ve ever been.” She caught Claire’s eye, and the girl nodded. They turned and walked away, and none of them felt any need to look back.

* * *

 

Claire had been right. In a town of smallish, stucco buildings, Perth’s home was hard to miss. “Are you certain of this plan, fair friend?” Yoshimo asked. “Even if he is but one wizard, we do not want to borrow trouble.”

“Only if he starts it,” Maera responded. “Besides, we just burned down the only whorehouse in a port town. Trouble has been borrowed in liberal quantities, so why stop now?” The thief’s face remained disquieted. “Yoshimo, talk to me. What’s bothering you?”

He fixed his eyes on her with such _forcefulness_ she had to look away, uncomfortable. Words formed on his lips, and then his expression closed, and he said, “It is nothing. Pay me no heed.” He walked past her, back straight, and she could allow herself no more time for disquiet.

Despite the midday breeze, the shutters were closed, but the door stood ajar. “That’s not a good sign,” Kelsey murmured, voicing her thoughts.

“Looks like this day still has some interesting left in it,” Maera agreed. She pushed the door open and slowly stepped into the front hall. There were no lamps or candles lit; the only light came from the doorway, and those tiny streams of sun that could squeeze through the shutters. “Hello? Perth?”

“You are Maera.” A voice spoke from just beyond the open door’s light. “I have seen your face…he has shown it to me. I know you…”

Maera’s hackles rose. “Perth? Are you the Cowled Wizard Perth?”

A thin man of average height shuffled towards the edge of the sunlight. He obviously had not washed or shaved in several days. He twitched his head this way and that, as though reacting to sounds only he could hear. “You are Maera. I am to test you. Test your limits.”

Borrowed trouble was one thing, but madness was quite another. Maera dropped her hand to Daystar’s hilt. “Perth, I’m only here for the talisman you use to get into Spellhold. That’s all I want.”

“The wardstone?” His tone was, for an instant, genuinely curious, then it slipped back into the dreamy monotone. “No. No, you are to be tested.”

There was a faint flicker of movement to her left, and Maera was aware of Yoshimo, slipping around the edges of the light towards the mage. He drew even with the man’s back and seized him, bringing his katana to Perth’s throat. “Fool,” he hissed, “there will be no test while Yoshimo is here! Give us what we have come for!”

Perth shook his head in confusion, oblivious to the blade at his neck, his wandering mind following some other circuit. “Yoshimo…no, Yoshimo is inconsequential. Maera must be tested!” A circle of fire sprang to life around him, pushing Yoshimo back. The thief’s blade skittered off his throat, cutting it, but not deeply enough to kill. Maera lunged for him, sword drawn, cutting through the flames. It was over with distressing ease, before anyone else even had cause to strike a blow. Maera felt a bit dirty. She hated unfair fights.

The fire winked out as Perth died, and Yoshimo dug through the pockets of his soiled robe. He withdrew a flat black stone the size of his hand, covered in arcane symbols. “My knowledge of runes is inadequate at best, fair friend,” he said, “but I would imagine that is what you seek.” He handed her the stone.

Maera turned it over, sliding her fingers over the carvings. Everything she had fought for was finally there, in her hands. She glanced up at her party, letting a wary hope work its way into her heart. “We can get in. And as long as we can get in, we can get Imoen back.” She tightened her grip on the wardstone. “We’re really going to get her back.”

* * *

 

Back at her room in the Vulgar Monkey, Maera paced, stopping occasionally to stare at her pack as if she could see the wardstone within through the leather. Kelsey sat on the bed and watched her, worried. She was wound so tight he was sure she might explode at any moment. As she strode past him again, he caught her wrist. “Maera, honey, please…sit down.”

She sat heavily beside him. “I’m sorry. I’m being very irritating, I’m sure.” Her feet tapped restlessly.

“No! No, I understand the pacing. You’re just not going to be able to make tomorrow get here any faster by wearing a hole in the floor.”

She flopped flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. “You’re right.” She was still tapping.

He poked her in the side. “Roll over. And scoot up a little further.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

She compiled, making a face at him as she did. He loosened the neck of her undershirt and began to stroke the back of her neck, slowly increasing the pressure as he worked. He kneaded the junction of neck and shoulder, personally offended at the amount of tension she carried there, which only fueled his fingers. She whimpered softly, and he redoubled his efforts, realizing he could get _very_ used to her making that sort of sound. When he felt he had made some positive progress, he eased up and slowly tapered off, ending with a firm kiss on the nape of her neck. She rolled over, smiling a bit lazily at him.

“What was that for?”

“Feeling a little more calm?” She nodded. Her feet were finally still. “Good.” His fingers drifted across her cheek. “All I want is for you to be happy. I know that sounds cliché, but I have never met someone whose happiness mattered to me as much as yours does. So if that means I need to rub your neck, or take on an army of Cowled Wizards to get Imoen back, I’ll do it. I’ve spent the last decade of my life under a cloud, wishing I could change things I had no power over, and not changing the things I could. I got so used to it I forgot what daylight looked like. You’ve reminded me.” Their eyes locked. “I don’t know if I believe in destiny, Maera, but I can’t shake the feeling that my whole life has been leading me to this. To you.”

She smiled, almost nervously. “We do seem to have met at just the right time. For both of us,” she said. “There are so few constants in my life, Kelsey. I am really glad you’ve decided to be in it anyway.”

“I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be.” He took one of her hands in his and kissed it, never taking his eyes from hers. “Anywhere other than right here. Right now.”

He could see something click in her dark eyes, and only had a second to wonder what it was before she reached up, curled the fingers of her free hand in the collar of his robe, and drew him into a deep, breathless kiss. And any trace of doubt or uncertainty was banished as rational thought ceased, drowned out by a wild and reckless need. He felt his hands moving, grasping her hips (Gods, her hips were _perfect_ ), her body pressed against his as she drew him closer. He couldn’t breathe and didn’t want to; she was there, in his arms, warm and beautiful and vibrant, and he loved her and wanted her so badly…

He pulled back, unsure of whether or not to proceed. “Maera, I want you to know, this is not just some physical thing, and I-”

“I know.” Her smile was a mix of gentle understanding and sly, wicked intent that made his already overworked heart race all the faster; she still had an iron grip on his shirt front and she carefully pulled him back down within inches of her lips. “You gonna keep talking?”

She didn’t need to say another word. There was nothing to reason through, no need for logic, no rationale. There was passion there that demanded expression. It was as simple as that. They kissed again, and again, giving in, letting go. Everything that mattered was contained between them. The night was theirs.

 


	11. Rapture of the Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Too late."_

Maera woke gradually that morning. Her first awareness was that she was not alone in her bed, and her first impulse at that thought was to giggle wantonly. Oh right. _That_ was how she'd spent her night. Before opening her eyes, she nudged her emotions, searching for embarrassment or self-consciousness, or worse, regret. Her soundings came back only with contentment. That was a good sign. She repositioned herself against Kelsey’s side, and opened her eyes.

He glanced at her as she moved, and the warmth in his eyes sent a tremor of delight through her. “Good morning.”

“Hi there,” she said, smiling. He watched her face for a long moment, and she arched her eyebrows at him. “What is it?”

“You are absolutely beautiful,” he murmured wonderingly. “You really are.”

Despite the shameless manner in which she’d spent the previous night, she discovered she was apparently still more than capable of blushing. Self-deprecation seemed the best route. “You don’t have to say that. You’ve already gotten me into bed.”

He stuck his tongue out at her, playing along, but only just. “Well, maybe I’ll want to get you into bed again sometime.”

“Now that’s a problem I don’t think I’ll mind having,” she laughed.

He grinned at her, but then his face softened. “It’s good to see you smile,” he said softly.

“Should I not?”

“I guess I was a little afraid you’d wake up this morning and decide you’d made a terrible mistake,” he replied, a bit abashed.

She propped herself up on her elbow, and touched his cheek gently. “No mistake. That was quite possibly the most sensible thing we’ve done since we met.” His smile returned, and he grabbed her hand, kissing her knuckles. Maera found her mind turning to other places he could be kissing, and glanced at the room’s lone window. The sun was rising, pink light slipping under the aged and unattractive curtains. She sighed, and sensing the change in mood, Kelsey began slowly kissing his way up her arm. She pulled away, laughing. “Oh, no you don’t! We have things to do today!”

“I know,” he said ruefully. “There are definitely impulses that can’t be acted upon right now.”

“No, not now. But…later will be a different story.” She leaned up to plant a playful kiss on the end of his nose. “I promise.” She sighed reflectively and sat up. She sat up, pulling the sheet with her, more out of comfort than modesty. “I have no idea what today holds for us; whether we’ll have to bribe the Wizards, fight for her…hells, maybe they’ll just let us take her, who knows? But we’ve come this far. One way or another, I’ll get to see my best friend again today. And I’ll get to introduce her to the man I love.”

He beamed at her. “That’s me, right?”

She rolled her eyes in good-natured mockery. “No, the other guy I slept with last night.”

“Other guy? Wow. You were busy.”

“Smartass,” she laughed. She stood, and looked around the room, lips pursed and brow furrowed. “Do you have any idea where my shirt went?”

* * *

 

Sime saw them off that morning from the Vulgar Monkey’s common room. “I’ll keep an ear to the ground and a foot on Havarian,” she said. “How long should you be before I get anxious?”

Maera shrugged. “I have no idea. Use your best judgment.”

“I can do that,” Sime replied. She clasped Maera’s forearm, and nodded to each of them in turn. “Tymora be with you.”

The town of Brynnlaw hugged a narrow strip of land between the bay and a smallish range of hills. Beyond those hills, just up the coast, the asylum known as Spellhold clung to a bit of sea-washed rock like a tall, thin man trying to keep his feet out of the water. The gates parted noiselessly before them, and the only sound was the lash of the waves as they approached the doors. There was no sign of recent activity in the courtyard. Paving stones were chipped, their mortar washed away, and planks of wood hung loose where nails had failed them.

The doors pushed open easily, unlocked and unguarded. The front hall was every bit as unkempt as the outside – the carpet was worn and ragged, the paint faded, the brass wall lamps dim and unpolished. The silence was absolute. Maera had not known entirely what to expect, but this had not been it. Getting into Spellhold had loomed in her mind as the first and largest hurdle, but this had been so easy. There was a prickle between her shoulder blades; the sensation of being watched was almost overpowering. She glanced over her shoulder at Jaheira, who looked about the hall with narrowed eyes. Something was very, very wrong here. Where was the other shoe, and when would it drop?

“Ah. You have arrived.”

The voice came from the head of the hall, the speaker a tall, broad-shouldered figure in a hooded robe. It was naggingly familiar. “You are Maera, I believe?”

She swallowed, and nodded her head. “And you are?”

“I am the Coordinator of this facility. It is my understanding you have come here seeking a friend.”

“How did you know that?”

A chuckle emanated from the hood. “You’ve hardly gone unnoticed in town. It would be difficult indeed to overlook the impression you made yesterday.”

The disquiet in Maera’s gut twisted. “If you know I’m here for Imoen, how about producing her and letting us be on our way?”

“Dear girl,” came the amused response, “you must know it cannot be that simple.”

“Couldn’t hurt to try,” Maera shrugged.

“Indeed not. I can, however, take you to her. Matters will be clearer then.” He turned and headed for a door. Maera stared at his back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” There was no reply.

He led them through the long hallways, pausing occasionally to mention some bit of history or trivia about the place. Most of it was utterly meaningless to Maera, and even if it had not been, she was too on edge to give him much of an ear. The feeling of wrongness clung to her like spidersilk. They finally found themselves in a small, windowless sitting room, comfortably appointed with shabby, but still pleasant, furnishings. It was chilly, despite the temperate day outside. On the edge of a chair, staring into the brazier that tried to warm the room, sat Imoen. She did not look up as the door opened. Maera rushed to her, kneeling at her feet, trying to catch her eye, but Imoen did not acknowledge her. “Im? It’s me. It’s Maera.” She gently brushed Imoen’s cheek with the back of her fingers. There was no response. “I’m here. I’ve come to get you.” She glared up at the Coordinator. “What did you do to her?”

“Only what was necessary. She is quite well. She simply…comes and goes. It would appear that she is gone now.”

Maera stood, shoulders tensing in anger. “She was certainly not like this before she was brought here! Something has happened to her, and I think I’m owed an explanation!”

A hand grabbed her wrist, the grip painfully tight, and she started. Imoen stared up at her, her pupils glittering eerily large. “Too late.”

Oh, gods, the dreams.

A chilly certainty spread through her like ice water. She faced the Coordinator again. There it was. How could she not have seen it? How could she have been so stupid? “Irenicus,” she breathed.

The hooded head bowed once in a nod. “I am glad you understand. There is no need for any clichéd unmasking now.”

“What have you done to her? What have you done to this place?”

“Ultimately, what I have done here is of little consequence to you, as your part in this drama is really quite fleeting.” Irenicus turned his head to look beyond her. “Yoshimo, you have done as I ordered, I expect?”

Every head, paralyzed before, swung slowly towards the thief, who swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes.” His mouth twisted around the next word. “Master.”

“TRAITOR!” Minsc roared. His sword flashed from the scabbard, but Maera held up a shaking hand. There had to be more to this. There had to be a _reason._

“Yoshimo?” she whispered, trying to keep the tremble from her voice. “What is he talking about?”

“I am sorry, fair friend,” he said wearily. “There were…circumstances you were not aware of.”

“You sold us out?!” Kelsey’s voice was bitter with disgust. Jaheira’s lips tightened as she shook her head, her expression saying everything. But Maera could not wrench her eyes from Yoshimo’s.

“Why?”

He opened his mouth, but Irenicus spoke instead. “There is no need to waste time with explanations,” he said smoothly. “Nor is there any need for excitement or heroics. Just sleep.”

And that was all there was.

* * *

 

Every dream was different. It was always different. But it was always the same, too. Even if it never took the same form twice, it was a singular entity. It cloaked itself in whatever imagery it chose, wearing her worst moments like a favorite suit. It twisted pride. It fed on anger. It painted its face with blood and dressed itself the tattered skins of her foes. It was the voice that laughed when she killed. It was the darkness that lurked in the corners of her mind. It was the Dream. And it had her in its claws.

She stood before the double doors of Candlekeep’s Great Library once more. And standing guard there was a figure in armor, cruel spikes and barbs ornamenting its every joint, its hands resting on the pommel of the massive broadsword driven point first into the ground. It looked like Sarevok.

“He ever emulated me,” said the hollow voice. “He was everything I desired of my Children. He breathed in all I could give him and he wanted more. And yet, when the time came, you were the victor. Was it a fluke that you defeated one of my finest sons, wayward girl? You who have rejected me, denied me, tried to cast me out. Is this your childish rebellion? Did you think you could keep me at bay forever, prodigal? I am within you. I am your blood and bone. I am your instinct. I am your _truth_. And I have come to educate you.”

“I have never needed any lesson of yours,” she replied, but it was not her voice. Imoen stood beside her, speaking her words.

“You bathe your hands in blood, yet claim you do not need me. What heir says such as that to the one who could grant her patrimony?”

“Why do you persist in this?” she asked through Imoen. “You try over and over, but it will get you nowhere. I am not yours. I never will be.”

“Deny me at your peril, girl. Madness is the only reward of those who refuse their true selves. Will you sink into insanity while you cling to your foolishness?”

The words stabbed, finding the chink in her armor and striking home. She had wondered those very things, late at night, when the images behind her eyes were still sharp and vivid. But then she felt the familiar anger well up behind the fear. Bhaal was not the whole of her. He didn’t get to push her around.

There was a shudder, and stones from the uppermost turret crashed down around them. Imoen looked up in alarm, and there was a smile in Bhaal’s voice when he spoke again. “You have shielded yourself in this place too long, daughter. Hidden behind the sage’s walls and your pitiful attachments to the weak, like this one.” He indicated Imoen with a contemptuous jerk of his head. “But no more. The stones are being pulled down, and when they are gone, only you and I will remain. And then what will you do?”

Her retort was harsh with anger. “The same thing I’ve always done. I’ve gotten along just fine without you. Why should that change now?”

“Stubborn. Always so stubborn,” Bhaal said, shaking his head. “You still think you have a choice.”

More masonry cracked around them. Imoen’s voice grew panicked. “It doesn’t matter! I’ve never wanted anything from you! Nothing you say or do will change that!”

The ground buckled beneath them. “This is none of my doing. Another undermines you from without, and I thank him for it.” Bhaal extended an armored hand. “Flee from me no more, Maera. Let the walls crumble and accept what is yours by right of blood.”

Imoen, acknowledging her for the first time, grabbed Maera fiercely by the upper arms, and stared up at her intently as the walls fell. “Are we not two parts of a greater whole, you and I? If our own defenses fail, we must stand for each other!” A wracking pain seized her, spreading from her chest, and she bent double, but Imoen’s grip remained firm even as Candlekeep shattered around them. Bhaal laughed, and she could still hear it ringing in her ears as she woke.

* * *

 

Maera crawled back to consciousness slowly, becoming vaguely aware of the figures beyond the glass. A cage, of course. Where else would Irenicus put her? Her entire body ached so she was sure she must be bruised from head to foot. She rolled, slowly, agonizingly, from her back onto her side.

“I suppose I should not be surprised that you live,” Irenicus said, squatting before the glass and eyeing her with cool detachment. “I would expect no less of you if it did not kill Imoen. But it is no matter. It will kill you eventually.”

She rolled her head to look up at him. It hurt to breathe too deeply. “What did you do to me?” she croaked. Her throat was raw.

“I had a disease. You were my cure. A pity it will now result in your death, but I have work that must be done, and plans I must see through. You and Imoen were a necessary sacrifice.” She dragged herself onto her hands and knees as he continued. “Most people’s souls are so mundane, but yours is truly remarkable. Or, was, I should say. It’s mine now.”

She stared at him with all the incredulity she could muster. “You took my _soul_?” Incomprehension was just making her head ache more. “”So you wanted a Bhaalspawn soul…what did you need Imoen for?”

“Silly girl, you didn’t know? You never suspected? A fellow Child of Bhaal has been under your nose all this time.” He stood, and turned. “Come, Yoshimo, there is no need for such a glum face. Lacing the soup with the spell components was quite brilliant. You should be pleased with yourself.”

The thief gazed down at Maera, his face expressionless. “Yes.”

The effort of even being on her knees was almost too much. Tears of pain and exhaustion started in the corners of her eyes. “I thought we were friends, Yoshimo. Guess I was wrong, huh?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I never meant for you to come to harm. Please believe me. If I could have prevented this…”

It surprised her how deeply it stung, seeing him there. “Why didn’t you, then?”

“Do you know what happens when you disobey a geas?” he burst out, pressing his hands against the glass. “Do you?! I accepted it when I first entered his service - I DID NOT KNOW, Maera. I did not know what his plans were for you! I did not know I would-” He took a deep breath and stepped back. “But it doesn’t matter now.”

“No, it does not,” Irenicus interjected smoothly. “Come, Yoshimo, you will feel better away from here.” He gestured with one hand and Bodhi silently appeared at his side. “Since she has survived, dear sister, you may take her and her companions and dispose of them as you see fit.” He leaned down, a small, ghastly smile crossing his strange lips. “Farewell, Child of Bhaal. We shall not meet again.”

 


	12. The Maze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You want to see what a Child of Bhaal can really do, then COME ON!”_

The worst part had been the screaming. Minsc had hammered at the cell door until his gauntlets were dented and his fists bloodied, but all Kelsey could do was sit and listen as Maera screamed. Even the worst of her nightmares had never wrenched such bone-chilling cries from her. No battle wound had ever earned even a fraction of the agony he heard in her voice now. And he was powerless, sitting in the dark cell, fists curled tight until his fingers ached, just near enough to hear. He might as well have been on another plane for all the good he could do her.

At length, the screams had stopped, and then _that_ was the worst part. At least if she could scream, she was still alive. The minutes ticked by, and he finally brought himself to look up. Minsc had given up on the door, and sat staring at his hands, his face anguished. Jaheira was turned away from them, her shoulders so straight and stiff Kelsey’s own ached looking at her. She had not made a sound since they had been thrust into the cell.

A key scraped in the door lock, and it swung open to reveal Bodhi, smiling maliciously. “Come along. We have a game to play.”

Her vampires herded them into an open chamber with a strange, chipped mosaic on the floor. In the middle of the huge room lay Maera, head pillowed on the lap of a slender young woman with a narrow, delicately pretty face, who looked up as they were shoved in. “Jaheira! Minsc!” The overjoyed relief in her voice faded as she caught sight of Kelsey. “Who’s this guy?”

“Kelsey,” Maera rasped. He had never been so glad to hear her voice, even if she did sound terrible. “I’ll explain later.”

“Oh, how sweet.” Bodhi appeared on a ledge above them, voice dripping false sweetness. “Family reunions are the best kind, I think.”

“You’ve got quite a family yourself, Bodhi,” Maera rejoined hoarsely. “You’ve done as you were told, so go scamper back to big brother like a good girl.”

Bodhi’s face twisted. “Such bravado,” she growled. “I control the dead; I am not mocked by them. This asylum has all manner of nasty secrets, Child of Bhaal. Enjoy them. At least until I grow bored watching you flounder and kill you myself.” She vanished.

“Looking forward to it,” Maera muttered. She tilted her head, looking up at Imoen. “Hell of a way to find out, huh, Im?”

Imoen shrugged. “There are worse sisters to have than you. Bodhi, for example.”

Jaheira and Minsc hunched down beside the pair, but Kelsey hovered on the outskirts, feeling, unexpectedly and uncomfortably, like an outsider. He wanted to rush to Maera’s side and hold her close enough to hear her heartbeat, reassure himself that she really was alive, comfort her after whatever it was that Irenicus had done to her. But he felt as if he were looking back in time, through a window into her life from before him. The party that had saved Baldur’s Gate was as truly reunited as it could be. So he hung back, and watched. The venerable art of observation. His hands suddenly tingled, and he had to clench his fists to keep the sparks at bay. _Damn you, Yoshimo. She trusted you._

“You were in my dream,” Imoen was saying softly.

“'Two parts of a greater whole’? Standing for each other when our own defenses fail?” Maera asked.

“Yeah.” Imoen’s fingers brushed nervously over Maera’s hair. “Do you think we always knew, deep down? That I’m…like you?”

"Maybe. It doesn’t matter,” Maera replied, as firmly as her strained voice allowed. “Sarevok was a Child of Bhaal, and he was no brother of mine. If you’re really a Bhaalspawn too, it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change you.”

Looking at them, Kelsey couldn’t help but think of his own, much-younger brother, who’d stayed at home with their mother rather than travel the trade routes with him and their father. They hadn’t been close since their father’s death, and now that they were both grown, a chasm yawned between them that Kelsey didn’t quite know how to bridge. How different that distance from the closeness he saw before him now. Imoen smiled down at Maera, though the expression was thin and stretched tight at the edges. Dark brown eyes met sunny blue, and Maera reached up, her fingertips brushing her sister’s cheek. Suddenly, Kelsey understood. This was the love that had driven her thus far. For love of this small, thin girl – childhood friend, comrade in arms, sister in all but name – she would have overturned Amn without a second thought. There was nothing she had not been willing to do, no one she would not cross. She loved like she fought. Fiercely, purposefully, and to the end.

She had said she loved him, too. The realization of what that really meant was rather humbling. And a little frightening.

Maera was trying, with limited success, to sit up. She got an elbow under her, gritting her teeth. “Whoa, easy, Mae,” Imoen cautioned. “After they did it to me, I couldn’t get up for most of the day. Don’t push yourself.”

“If I don’t, how are we going to get out of here?”

“What _did_ they do to the two of you?” Jaheira asked intently. “What has happened?”

“Magic.” Maera gave her fingers a weak, meaningful wiggle.

Imoen’s laugh only lasted a second before it grew choked, and she leaned over Maera, hugging her as best she could, despite the awkward angle. “Gods, I missed you,” she declared, her voice half-muffled.

Maera’s hand traced a gentle circle on Imoen’s shoulder. “I missed you too.” She held the embrace for a moment, then carefully maneuvered Imoen out of the way to try sitting again. She was more successful in this second attempt, but she still winced. She looked towards Jaheira. “Irenicus and Bodhi needed souls for some reason, and apparently ours were just right. I don’t know the details. He’s certainly not one to give up the game. Cagey bastard.”

Imoen shuddered. “He’s a monster.”

Maera’s fragile good humor crumbled. “I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner, Im.”

“You came. That’s what matters.”

Jaheira’s brow was creased in perplexed thought. “So he has performed some sort of ritual that has removed your souls but left you living?”

“I’m not really clear on how it works,” Imoen said, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “This is high end ritual magic; way, WAY out of my league.” She flexed her hands fretfully. “It took six people to power the spell. It killed them. Just...poof. Alive one minute and dead the next.” She looked up slowly. “That’s what happened to the wizards. And the other prisoners. He practiced. A lot.”

Maera’s eyes widened. “My gods. That’s what Bodhi was doing in Athkatla. She was providing him with _fuel_.”

“Silvanus preserve us,” Jaheira breathed.

Maera took a deep breath. “Well, nothing can be done while we sit here.” Minsc got the hint, took her by the shoulders and levered her to her feet. She swayed for a moment, then glanced towards Kelsey and half-turned to face him. “Hey... No need to lurk,” she said quietly, holding out her hands to him. They were ice cold. “It doesn’t work anymore,” she added. She gestured towards her throat with their joined hands. “I tried.”

“Tried what?” he asked, looked down at her hands, and then the light dawned. “Oh… Well, if it helps, I can still do this.” He concentrated, letting a tiny rivulet of magic warm his hands, and hers. Her smile was faint, but it was all he needed.

“That's a neat trick. Knew there was a reason I kept you around,” she said softly, brushing her thumb along the back of his hand in a reassuringly intimate gesture.

He had to fight back the urge to pull her tight, settling for holding her slowly warming hands as firmly as he could. “You were screaming,” he murmured, “and I couldn’t help you.”

“I’ll be alright,” she said, but there wasn’t as much conviction in her eyes as in her voice. Imoen watched the exchange with an inquiring eye, but Maera fended off her questions as she withdrew her hands. “Im, this is Kelsey. He’s a sorcerer, he’s been with us for a while now, and…we’ll discuss the rest later. Right now, we need to figure out how to get out of here, because I’m feeling better and experiencing a powerful urge to buttkick.”

Minsc visibly perked up at her words. “If Maera feels like buttkicking, serious heroing cannot be far behind! Boo and I were starting to get worried.” She patted his shoulder; it was obvious she noticed the dented gauntlets.

With an effort, she drew herself up, pulling back her shoulders in that familiar, determined way. Her eyes lit on a jumbled pile of packs in the corner. “Good of them to leave us our gear. Guess Bodhi wants a good show.” She walked towards the packs, her stride lengthening with every step. Belting on Daystar with obvious relief, she dug about for a moment before producing the bow they had bought in Trademeet, which she handed to Imoen. “Not exactly the best scenario for gift giving, but it’s just as well, because you’ll probably be needing this.” Imoen smiled her thanks, stringing the bow with a practiced hand as the others gathered their belongings. The door they had been pushed through before seemed to have vanished, so there was only one obvious exit now. Maera led the way.

* * *

 

Spellhold had been created in the old Amnish view that magic use was on par with madness. It was a prejudice slowly losing ground in the public mind, but like all such ugly little bigotries, it still found a way to bubble to the surface every so often. Kelsey knew it all too well, remembered the whispers as his father lay dying of that strange, wasting illness. _The Coltrane boy does magic_ , the rumormongers said, _you can_ _’_ _t tell me it_ _’_ _s coincidence_. And the words had taken root in Kelsey’s heart for so many years, despite Eila Coltrane’s deathbed refusal to blame his son’s magic for the sickness, despite the knowledge he had gained in the intervening years. In the back of his mind, part of him was still fifteen, still terrified that somehow, he had killed his father, still certain that magic led to insanity and death, because that was what magic did. And there had been no magic to do the one thing that mattered, to bring back the one who had been the anchor of their family. Lost, they had all washed out to sea, and Kelsey had drifted farthest of all.

The walls of Spellhold seemed to know it all, and they laughed at him.

“A fish?” Maera's voice shook him from his reverie. “Seriously?” She held an ornate antique key, and stared at the statue that stood guard in the middle of the corridor. She shook her finger at it, still apparently addressing the carved form. “I’ll have you know I was solving logic puzzles twice that complex by the time I was eight!”

“What do you wanna bet that key opens the door we couldn’t get through earlier?” Imoen asked.

“That would be the painfully obvious solution, wouldn’t it?” Maera replied. “I hope Bodhi’s not too disappointed by the fact all this place has to show for itself so far is statues asking stupid, elementary riddles.” She made a rueful face. “I’ve just jinxed us, haven’t I?"

As they moved down the cavernous corridor, Kelsey shivered, glad Minsc was behind him, taking up the rear. But even the big ranger, normally so heedless and bellicose, was restive and watchful. He stopped for an instant, then quickly strode past Kelsey, dropping his huge hand on Maera's shoulder. She stopped mid-stride and glanced back at him, questioning. "What's wrong, Minsc?"

"Vampires," he whispered. She stiffened. "I can smell them."

"Guess Bodhi's making her own entertainment," she replied softly. "Which way?"

"Ahead," he said, eyes fixed on the darkness.

Jaheira's expression was sour. "Sometimes infravision is worthless."

“Can you tell how many?” Maera asked. Minsc shook his head. “Okay. I say we smoke 'em out. Kelsey? You wanna do the honors?”

He stepped to her side, pushing Spellhold's mockery out of his mind. Maera thought it was a gift. She, whose very birth had been the will of a god, found his magic a source of wonder and fascination. She didn't believe he was a freak, or a monster. She had told him his magic itself didn't matter, only the application.

The fireball on his palm would need three seconds to get to the right size. One. Two.

She really liked this part, too. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy that.

The vampires screamed as one, and Maera and Minsc were moving in an instant. There were, as it turned out, four of them; former prisoners, judging by their drab, ratty garments. Maera slashed one across the chest, and didn't even flinch as an arrow winged over her shoulder to strike the vampire in the throat. A flurry of glowing magic missiles followed in its wake, zipping around Maera's body to hit their intended target. She shot a quick, fierce grin at Imoen before turning to the next semi-charred vampire.

When the last gaseous form had drifted away into the darkness, towards whatever forgotten corner of Spellhold their coffins resided, Imoen gave Kelsey an appraising look. “Not bad,” she said, her tone that of one arcanist to another. “And you don't have to use an incantation?”

“Um...no, I don't have to say anything,” he replied, a bit wary. Most mages tended to view that fact as either gross heresy or desperately unfair. Imoen just nodded.

“Neat.”

“You should see what he can do when he tries,” Maera remarked, smiling slightly as she wiped her sword blade.

Imoen's eyebrows raised. “Should I?”

Maera almost managed not to cough. “I, uh, didn't think you'd have any spells memorized, Im.”

“I went over them in my head every night,” Imoen said, her voice soft but matter-of-fact. “They gave me something to think about.” Maera didn't reply, but swiftly pressed her cheek to the top of her sister's head before continuing on down the dark hallway.

It might have been an hour later, after exploration of a side hall ended in a dead end and backtracking, that Imoen stopped short, pressing a hand to the wall.

“I’m fine,” she said shortly in response to Jaheira’s inquiry. “It’s just a little vertigo. It started a couple of days ago, after Irenicus did that weird ritual to me.”

The druid peered at her with a diagnosing eye, and peeled back her right eyelid with a thumb. “Any other symptoms?”

Imoen sputtered, trying to extract herself from Jaheira’s determined grasp. “I’ve had some headaches! But I’m okay! Really!”

“You’re running a fever,” Jaheira said, her tone accusatory.

“I’ll live, Jaheira! Ow!”

“Shut up, both of you!” Maera snapped sharply. “Give it a rest!” The pair subsided, surprised, and Maera took a deep breath. “Sorry. If Im’s okay, let’s keep going.”

Kelsey struggled to keep his thoughts from returning to their previous gloomy bent, but it was not easy. The place seemed designed for drawing one into unhealthy reflection. It _wanted_ those dark thoughts. There were stairs, eventually, and a set of doors than Imoen had to ponder over for a solid five minutes before she could declare them safe. Time had begun to seem relative anyway. They walked on, the silence of the dank rooms settling over them like a thick blanket.

Imoen peered around a corner carefully. “Trolls,” she reported.

“What are trolls doing here?” Maera asked, perplexed. She rubbed her hands together anxiously. She was tight, on edge, and it radiated off her like heat. It had to be the dark, and the silence. The long, maddening hallways. What other reason could there be?

Imoen poked her head back around the corner momentarily. “And a golem.”  
  
“Well, the golem at least makes sense...”

“The way I understand it, nobody had used this basement for years,” Imoen said. “There's no telling how they got here, but I'm sure they haven't run into any people for decades.”

“Good to know the Cowled Wizards do such an excellent job keeping their own house,” Jaheira muttered.

“I'd expect nothing less of them,” Kelsey said.

Maera slowly slid Daystar from its sheath. “Let me handle the golem,” she said. “Daystar's probably our best chance of hurting it. You four take the trolls.”

Kelsey shot her a concerned look. “Are you sure, Maera? I mean, one golem doesn’t seem like much, but-”

“Gods, what happened to me being the boss?” she flared. “I do not need you holding my hand, Kelsey!” He stared at her, stung, and she rubbed her forehead distractedly with her off hand. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m just…really frustrated right now. I’m sorry.” He nodded, but his eyes were on guard. She fretted at her forehead again. Why was she so tense? “We’ve got work to do.”  
  
Minsc charged first, Jaheira at his back. Imoen raised her hands, moving them in a series of precise gestures that matched the measured cadence of her incantation. Kelsey really had no idea how that worked. He had found through practice that certain hand movements seemed to improve his control over certain spells. That was why he always held his hand palm up for a fireball, or put his left hand behind the right for a lightening bolt – it was easier to aim that way. But those who had made an actual study of magic always amazed him. Imoen's hands spread, and a fan of ice issued form them. A rime of white frost coated the trolls just as Minsc and Jaheira reached them. “Very good, little Imoen!” Minsc shouted happily, punctuating his good cheer with a blow that lopped off the leg of the first troll at the knee. “Now they don't stink!” Kelsey sent a quick fire arrow at Minsc's amputee with a quick motion of his hand (using two fingers to aim it, because its arc was more stable that way).  
  
Maera had taken advantage of the chaos to slip around the outer edge of the room. The golem, which was roughly the same size as the trolls, thundered forward with them as the others entered. She squared herself up behind it, and stabbed at its lower back. Daystar sank into the clay as if it were flesh, and the golem roared. She smiled suddenly, a fierce joy singing in her ears. The only way it could be better was if the damn thing bled.

She faltered for an instant. Where had _that_ come from? The golem turned, swinging a massive fist at her, and she was almost too distracted to get out of the way. She could feel the air in the wake of the golem’s fist pass her cheek; she danced out of its path, aiming for its legs. Golems could only be killed through the heart or the head, and she would have to get it down to her level. She dove to its right, with a quick, deep slash at its ankle. It had no tendons to cut, but as she darted around it, it followed her, turning on its wounded leg. With a snap, the ankle gave way, and the golem teetered off balance before dropping to its side. Maera drove her sword through its glowing left eye socket, and the light abruptly died. She looked around; Imoen had just finished off the final troll. “See?” she said as she sheathed her sword once more. “Fine.” Kelsey didn’t look at her, and her jaw tightened. How dare he? Of all the sanctimonious, judgmental… She had taken three steps towards him when she realized what she was doing. She stopped, trying to breathe deeply, but for some reason, it didn’t seem to help. Well, if she was still angry, at least she could direct to a more deserving target. Bodhi’s pale, smug face rose in her mind, and the anger surged towards it like waters from a broken dam. _I_ _’_ _ll show you a game_ , she thought grimly.  
  
Perhaps it was her thoughts that summoned the vampire forth, because she was waiting for them in the next room, a quartet of vampires arrayed behind her. Bodhi's arms were folded across her chest, and her pallid features were set in a pout of boredom. “I suppose I should have simply taken the opportunity to kill you when it first presented itself and spared us all this tedium. It did seem like such a good idea at the time, though.”  
  
“Looks like I'm a disappointment on every front,” Maera said. “But you're here now. Let’s focus on that.”

Bodhi smiled suddenly, revealing her long canines. “Yes, let’s. I’ve already tasted your little sister’s soul. Let’s see how her blood is."

“You don’t get to hurt her anymore,” Maera hissed.

The smile never wavered. “And here’s the hero, valiant in her defense of others, even now. But deep down, you already know, don’t you? That it doesn’t matter what you do, because you’ve served your purpose. The only question left is - what will be the most amusing way to kill you, Child of Bhaal?"

Maera shook her head slowly, eyes narrowing. “I am so sick of this,” she muttered. “I am sick of you, and I am sick of your lunatic brother. I’m sick of being threatened, shoved, dragged, prodded, and kicked. I’m sick of having no say in my own life. I am no one’s toy, I am no one’s puppet, and I am no one’s spell component. Even if you and your brother and every other maniac with a grimoire and an axe to grind want to treat me like one.” Her voice rose. “Bat guano, sulfur, and just a pinch of Maera! Everybody wants a piece of the Bhaalspawn! Well, here I am, Bodhi!” she shouted, arms spread. “You can have me! You want to see what a Child of Bhaal can really do, then COME ON!”

She stood in the center of the room, sword still sheathed, and as she spoke, the shadows around her seemed to flicker and stretch. At first, it seemed like a trick of the torchlight, struggling against the darkness of the room. But by the time she reached her crescendo, there was no mistaking it. The shadows were coalescing on her like a cloak, like armor. They stretched to the ceiling, spiky and jagged, a demon shape with unnaturally long arms and a crest of barbs. She threw back her head and screamed, a cry of pure rage and vengeance, and all of Spellhold echoed back the cry. Worse than that, though, was the next sound she made. A low, gurgling chuckle rippled through the sudden and absolute silence.

One clawed hand flashed, and the vampire next to Bodhi was doubled over with a howl of pain. The next blow took off its head. Bodhi stepped back, eyes wide with sudden alarm, as the gaseous form of her minion swirled around her. “What is this?” Her voice trembled warily. “Child of Bhaal, what have you become?” She and the remaining vampires edged away. “Irenicus will know of this. Whatever you have done, this changes nothing,” she warned unsteadily, and they vanished.

It should have been funny, Kelsey thought. Under any other circumstances, it would have been satisfying to watch Bodhi flee. She took such pleasure in inspiring fear in others – it should have been amusing to see her stricken with fright. Maera would have taunted her roundly, and they all would have laughed. But Maera wasn't there, and they were left with the thing that had taken her place. The shadow beast hissed in frustration, thwarted in its desire for bloodletting, and turn on its heel to face the group behind it. Maera stood in the midst of the shadows, her eyes ablaze with rage, and Kelsey’s skin crawled. There was no light in those eyes, no spark of humanity, only a vicious need, lust for the kill. It was the face of a terrifying stranger. He didn’t know her at all, and it was obvious she did not know him.

Even breathing seemed too loud, and the action of it was too much movement. From the depths of her shadows, Maera swung her head to gaze at each of them, the motion jerky and unnatural. Her fingers flexed, and the long claws twitched in response. The slow survey paused with Imoen, a shadowy arm extended, and then everything happened at once. Imoen shouted something, Minsc bellowed a challenge, and Kelsey felt himself hit the stone floor hard, unsure of why his chest suddenly burned. A questing hand came away wet and a suspicious warmth spread across his midsection.

Minsc plowed into Maera, all his weight in his shoulder, bearing her to the floor. For an instant, the shadows covered him, the dark claws screeching horribly against his armor. He rolled hard, forcing her onto her back, and she screamed with an inhuman rage, her arms flailing to grapple him, to force him off. Suddenly the scream became a very human cry of protest, and the shadows were gone. Maera lay panting on the stones, Minsc’s elbow at her throat, and her eyes were wide with shock. “Minsc?” she whispered, a tiny, lost sound. “What just happened?” The ranger said nothing, his face clouded with confusion and concern as he got to his feet and held his shoulder. He glanced to the side, where Kelsey lay, splayed on his back.

Jaheira knelt beside Kelsey, pushing open his robe and ripping the slashed shirt beneath to examine the wounds. “Not as deep as I feared, " she reported, giving his chest a quick press. “And no broken bones.” She spread her fingers wide and closed her eyes, lips moving. He sucked in a breath at the contact of her bare skin on the open wounds, but as the glow of healing magic sank into him, the pain subsided. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he looked down at his chest. A trio of thin, oozing cuts stood livid against his bruised ribcage. “I’ll need to dress and bandage them,” Jaheira said shortly. “And you will need a new shirt.” He nodded, and looked up, across the room, where Minsc stood over Maera, who had pulled herself to her knees. She stared at him, eyes huge with abject horror.

“I didn’t even recognize you.” Her voice shook with panic and confusion as her eyes darted around the room in desperation. Minsc was still staring at the floor some distance from her, Jaheira was pointedly busying herself with dressing Kelsey’s wounds, and Imoen’s face was white with terrified recognition. Her mind felt like a castle under siege; the walls were battered down and hysteria lurked at the broken gates. “What was that? What was that _thing_?”

Imoen spoke tentatively, with the tone of one who was not sure her information would actually help the situation. “Irenicus showed me a lot of things, while he was preparing the ritual. Really unpleasant, nasty things. He seemed to feel it necessary to, um, educate me about Bhaal. That looked an awful lot like the Slayer…which was a kind of avatar that priests of Bhaal would summon into themselves.” She coughed uncomfortably. “Usually to carry out death curses.”

Maera gaped at her, stricken, then hauled herself to her feet, a hand clapped over her mouth. She fled to a corner of the room, where she was noisily sick. When there was nothing more to come up, silence descended. The only sound was her ragged breathing. Kelsey flinched as Jaheira tightened the last bandage. He needed to say _something_ , but had no idea what. “Maera…” he began.

She turned, and her eyes were so full of self-loathing it hurt to look into them. “I could have killed you without a second thought,” she said. “I would have. I wanted to.” She looked away, self-consciously adjusting her gear. “There are stairs through that doorway. I think we’re almost back to the ground floor.”

They reorganized themselves and trooped up the stairs, and none of them could bear to look at each other.

* * *

 

Irenicus’s experiments had managed to depopulate Spellhold in fairly short order. The prisoners, their Cowled Wizard jailers, and unfortunately misled Shadow Thieves provided by Bodhi – all had powered the rituals he designed. The upper floors of the Asylum were every bit as barren as their subterranean counterparts, but at least they began to recognize their surroundings. “I think I know where we are,” Imoen said slowly. “I think the lab is down this hallway.”

“I hope he’s still there,” Maera said. “He and I have some things to discuss.”

He was not. The lab stood as empty and quiet as the rest of the Asylum. Maera kicked a table in her fury, sending beakers and other, more arcane glassware spiraling to the floor to shatter loudly as thunder. “I will turn this place inside out!” she growled. “He doesn’t get to vanish! He has too much to answer for!” For an instant, her shadow appeared to lengthen. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes.

“If it’s any consolation, my dear, I do wish I could stay.” Irenicus’s voice, smooth and supercilious as ever, issued from the opposite doorway. “Bodhi tells me you’ve experienced an interesting… transformation, and I would love to have the opportunity to study it more closely. Call it an academic interest, if you will. I’m sure you can relate.” He folded his arms and met her irate gaze coolly. “But as I said before, I do not have the luxury of time. My plans are moving forward and must be overseen. And while I have the sneaking suspicion you will continue to turn up like a bad copper, I cannot waste that precious commodity on killing you personally.”

“Oh, no,” Maera said, her voice trembling with suppressed violence as she drew her sword. “No. You don’t get to just walk out of here. There is blood of your hands, and _I_ will account for it.”

“You would be better off to throw yourself on my sword now, villain,” Minsc added firmly. “You murdered Dynaheir, and my boots are itchy!”

“And you killed my Khalid with no more thought than you would give a fly!” Jaheira cried.

“Necessary. All of it necessary!” For the first time, emotion cracked through the façade. “You do not, you _cannot_ understand the importance of my work! I cannot be slowed by your petty concerns! You have been used, and I have no more need for you!” He raised a hand and uttered a word. The ozone stink of teleportation filled the long room. “Here! Amuse yourself with the last of my fodder! And do me the courtesy of dying here, so I may no longer be plagued by you!”

He teleported himself away, leaving them in the midst of a half dozen thieves, who were as vacant-eyed and lost as Perth had been. Standing with them was Yoshimo. A bitter, ironic half smile touched his lips. “I have one last order to follow, it seems.”

Maera lowered her sword. “Yoshimo, you don’t have to do this.”

He shook his head sadly. “You still don’t understand. Yes. _I do_. The time for choice is long past. Only Ilmater can free me now.” He drew his katana, and saluted her. “No redemption. No second chances. Let’s get this over with.”

He struck swiftly, she parried, and at the sound of steel on steel, the dominated thieves sprang into animation. Minsc bellowed a battlecry, and Imoen spoke a quick incantation, the arcane syllables flowing as naturally from her tongue as Common. The air popped slightly, and everything took on a bluish tinge as her shielding spell was completed. Kelsey was instantly envious; he couldn't do that. Minsc's great sword swept before him in long arcs, and his face was grim. As he opened his hands to let his next spell loose, Kelsey heard the sickening crack of wood meeting flesh and bone behind him; Jaheira's staff versus a luckless thief's skull. There was a crack of thunder to his left, and lightening danced off Imoen’s fingers, blowing a hole through the thief before him, and frying the one beyond. He took a second to be impressed, and realized that was the last of them, and there was only Yoshimo now, still locked in combat with Maera.

He was quicker, and she was stronger. They circled each other, bleeding and winded, and he slashed, but her sword was there to block. Another swift, steely exchange, and another. "Listen to me, Yoshimo," Maera said urgently. "What one mage can do, another can undo. We can fix this."

"You think I have not considered that?" Yoshimo retorted, slashing at her left side. She bocked him again, and the lab rang with the sound of their blades. "Leave off the heroics," he hissed, "and _fight me_." Her eyes narrowed, and she swung high, forcing his blade up.

Her face was set with typical concentration, but her eyes were hot. She half-turned, pulling his next attack farther left than he had intended, then pivoted back swiftly to catch his blade. She feinted low, and he was ready, but then his block was a little too high, and with smooth finality, Maera exploited the opening, sinking Daystar between his ribs. He coughed, and blood trickled from his lips. She yanked the blade back, expressionless. Yoshimo swayed, and dropped to his knees as she stood over him. Blood streaming freely down his side, he looked up at her, a wary hope in his eyes, even as his face twisted in agony. "Forgive me, fair friend," he croaked.

She closed her eyes, and drew a half-choked breath as she opened them again, her face suddenly and infinitely weary. Yoshimo’s strength failed, and he collapsed, but she knelt swiftly, catching him before he hit the floor. “He will pay for this,” she said softly. “And you won’t have to suffer any longer. I swear.”

He coughed again, tensing in a spasm of pain. “Better this way…” he whispered, his breathing shallow and ragged. “Better your hand…than his…”

She shifted him carefully, resting him in the crook of her arm. Her chin quivered, and in that moment, she looked lost and hurt as a child. “It's okay. Everything's okay,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “Just relax. It’ll be over soon.” Yoshimo nodded once, slowly, and his eyes drooped shut as he lost consciousness. His breathing rattled on for several more minutes, and then it stopped. Maera bent her head over his, tears streaking the blood on her cheeks.

No one spoke. There was nothing to say. Maera sat over Yoshimo's body in utter silence, and just when they all wondered if they should try to move her, she drew her belt knife. “Im, dig around in my pack and get me an oilcloth.”

“What are you-”

“Do it.” Utterly composed, she opened Yoshimo’s chest, and everyone flinched as she calmly cracked his ribcage, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in the hushed lab. She took the proffered oilcloth from Imoen, who blanched as she deftly removed Yoshimo's heart from the chest cavity, her face still expressionless. “Is there any sort of magical preservation you can do here?”

“Um…yeah, I guess. Why?”

“An Ilmaterian penance,” Maera said shortly. “It’s the only way to truly break the geas.”

“But didn’t he-"

“This is not a discussion, Imoen.” Still dubious, Imoen spoke a few quiet words, and Maera wrapped the heart in the cloth, stowing it in her pack. She stood, back straight, her jaw set to an almost painful degree. “Now. If I were an egocentric sociopath with deeply important plans to carry out, where would I be?”

A tentative, yet unctuous voice came from the shadows near the door. “I…may be able to help there.”

“Saemon Havarian?” Maera’s brow furrowed. “What the Nine Hells and Abyss are you doing here? No. Wait. Let me guess. You’re in on the gag, too.” In an instant, she had crossed the room and had the captain against the wall, hand at his throat. “Make it good, Captain. I’ve had a _very_ bad day. Or couple of days. I couldn’t even tell you how long I’ve been here now. Suffice it to say, I’m feeling extraordinarily aggressive right now, and you have a big bullseye painted on your chest.”

“I was just supposed to get you here safely! Yoshimo was the one who was doing the dirty work!” he protested.

“Trying to pass this off on a friend of mine I just had to kill would be a VERY bad idea at the moment, Saemon. So I suggest you be more helpful in the next five minutes than you have ever been in your entire life.” Her shadow was spreading again. She clenched her teeth and it retracted.

“Irenicus and Bodhi swindled me! They promised me a sword for doing my part, a real artifact, one of a kind, but then they only gave me the blade!”

“Truly, my heart bleeds.” She gave him a shake. “Information. Do you know where he’s gone?”

Saemon stiffened, trying to regain a bit of dignity, even if his position had not changed. “He has a portal. It’s on the next floor. Follow the hallway directly from the stairs, it’s the last door on your left. Before you ask, no, I don’t know where it goes. But he was always talking about ‘our friends in the dark’, so you can take that as you will. I wouldn’t be surprised if it goes to the Underdark.” He looked pleased that his words sent an obvious chill through his listeners. “Of course, I could always honor our agreement and take you back to the mainland. Let you prepare to take Irenicus from a position of strength, as it were.”

“I don’t think so. Even if you hadn’t just admitted you were in my enemy’s pay, I don’t trust you any farther than Minsc’s hamster can throw you.” She released him and stepped back. He rubbed his neck, panting. “This is what’s going to happen. We’re going to follow Irenicus through this portal of his. _You_ are going to go back to town and inform Sime of that. You will then take her back to Athkatla and deliver her safely and directly into the arms of Aran Linvail.” She leaned forward, eyes flint hard, her voice dropped to a growl. “And if I find out you have failed to do any of those three things, there will be no rock in the Realms that will hide you from me. Understood?”

He nodded hastily, and bolted.

The portal was just where he had described, shimmering blue white on the wall, giving no indication of where it led. Maera sighed as she gazed into it. Her anger was gone, and the slump of her shoulders was all too obvious against the flickering portal.

"Maera?" Jaheira said softly. "What is wrong?"

"What isn't?" Maera tried to chuckle, but it caught in her throat. "Everything's gone wrong, and I don't have the slightest idea what to do now."

"We have-"

"No direction but forward. I know. I just-" She shook herself, and Jaheira touched her shoulder.

"You go nowhere alone. You should know this by now.” The druid drew herself up. “I will go first.” Before anyone could protest, she stepped through the portal. Minsc followed, and then Imoen, who squeezed Maera's arm as she passed.

Kelsey reached out to likewise touch her in encouragement, but she shrank away, averting her eyes from his hurt face. “I’m sorry, Kelsey,” she whispered miserably. “I...I'm really sorry.” She vanished through the shimmering door.

He stared after her for a long, pained moment, then closed his eyes, and took a deep, steadying breath. It didn’t matter. He would go with her no matter what. He would follow her wherever she led. No matter the darkness.


	13. Down Among the Dark Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I told you not to hide behind the weak.”_

Maera knew they’d gotten lucky. The Svirfneblin had found them first. Being gnomes, however sunless their environs, they were curious creatures first and foremost, and they found their surfacer guests fascinating. And after a little investigation pointed to the nearby drow city of Ust Natha as Irenicus and Bodhi’s most likely destination, the gnomes had proved more than willing to help the party figure out a way to follow. It was obvious the amount of love lost between the various races of the Underdark was too little for a halfling’s teaspoon. The svirfneblin were a peaceful sort, with 'keep your head down' and 'live and let live' as their primary precepts. They had been kind to the lost travelers, if understandably cautious, and that was why Maera felt so badly about hating the place so thoroughly.

They had been there for three days. She assumed it was days, at least. There was no real way to know. The deep gnomes had a pattern to their lives that indicated a daily cycle down in the depths, but their reckoning of time was very different, and she had no idea how or if it coincided with the daylight hours of the surface world. But that only one of the reasons she hated it. The light was dim, the food was strange and most of the ceilings were too low. She was restless, agitated and distracted. She paced and snapped and snarled like a caged tiger. Her companions jumped every time they saw her shadow, then glanced at each other guiltily for it. Minsc had even offered her Boo to help her calm herself, and it had taken every shred of her self-control not to shout him from the room.

She couldn’t even look at Kelsey. Spellhold weighed on her like a leaden cloak, and she could remember it all in obscenely vivid detail. The darkness had wrapped her close with welcoming arms, and the pure, wrathful exultation of its embrace seemed the most perfect emotion she had ever experienced. It had felt so right, and she had felt so free. When she moved her fingers, she could feel the clawed hands. She could remember how easy it was to slash through skin and muscle, marvelling in her own strength and power. She could still feel the blood, _his_ blood, still see it on her hands. The memory made her gorge rise, and the one person whose comfort she wished for most was the one person she dared not approach.

Normally, she loved irony. This just made her sick.

There was little else to do but retreat into solitude, and she had found some on the outskirts of the svirfneblin granitehome, a rocky ledge where she could perch and stare down into the depths of the cave below. “Ah, my lady Maera!” The jovial voice of Goldander Blackenrock, headgnome of the community, nearly made her vacate her skin. He saw her start, and apologized. “Forgive me, but I bring good news. Odendal Breachgnome and his company will be returning from Lady Adalon’s cavern tomorrow. Their visit was really a formality, though. I doubt very much that she would deny you her aid.”

“You seem awfully sure she can help us, Goldander."

“There is little that is beyond Adalon’s power, my lady. You will see that for yourself.”

“I don’t see why she has to be so damn mysterious,” Maera said glumly.

“Better for her to reveal herself on her own terms. She is a proud creature.”

She rested her forehead on the heels of her hands and sighed. “Thank you, Goldander. You’ve given me something to look forward to.”

He nodded, but instead of departing, he hovered in place for a moment, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. “Your companions had wondered if you would join them for the sleeping meal,” he said.

She had to think about that for a moment. The sleeping meal – the last meal of the day, before bedtime. It was an imperfect translation, but there were so many concepts Deep Gnomish and Common _didn’t_ share, it was a wonder they could communicate at all. “Thank you, but tell them I’m not hungry, Goldander.”

His small face wrinkled with discomfiture. “Very well.” He departed, and she turned her attention back to the dark without, in hopes of ignoring the dark within.

* * *

 

The granitehome was asleep by the time Maera returned from her ledge, and she hoped her party was as well. It wasn’t that she was avoiding them, she told herself, then sighed. Except that she was. They had been put up in the granitehome’s community long room, because it was one of the few places the ceiling had been carved out high enough to accommodate for human-sized guests. The gnomes had helpfully set up some large cloth partitions, creating a pair of rooms and allowing them a degree of privacy. Just as she was about to duck through the curtain, she saw a shadow moving on the other side. Her body went with its first instinct; she seized the figure by the first available body part (it felt like a shoulder) and yanked it forward. A quick snap of her arm sent the lurker rolling onto its back, and Kelsey stared up at her, eyes wide.

Oh damn.

She covered her face with her hands. Apology seemed utterly futile, so she stood for a moment and forced herself to soak in the enormity of her stupidity. She removed her hands; he was still staring. Exhaling hard, she asked, “Did I hurt you?”

“Other than my dignity, I think I’m okay.” He moved to get up, and she held out a hand. He took it, long fingers warm in her chilly grip, but she pulled slightly too hard, and he came to his feet mere inches from her. Gods, he was so close. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. His expression was guarded, cautious, but when their eyes met, and she could see his mind was in the same place as hers. Back in Brynnlaw.

She swallowed. “Couldn’t sleep?” She knew she should move, but she didn’t want to.

“Actually, I-” He looked away, and it was suddenly clear. He had been about to look for her. She sighed heavily, and he looked back at her. “You don’t have to keep your distance, Maera. No one is angry with you for what happened. You shouldn’t punish yourself for it.”

_You weren’t inside my head! You don’t know how GOOD it felt! You don’t understand; you CAN’T. So don’t feed me lines about how I should feel, because you don’t have a damn clue._

She sank her teeth into her tongue to keep the words at bay. He didn’t deserve that. “Go back to bed, Kelsey,” she murmured.

It hurt like a slap to see the disappointment cross his face as he nodded, and when he stepped back from her, the air around her seemed so cold. “I’ll get some sleep, too,” she said. “I promise.” She sighed as he headed back to his blankets. She hated lying to him, but she knew there wouldn’t be any rest for her.

* * *

 

The partition may have provided them visual privacy, but it did little to block out the babble of frightened, confused voices that filled the long room the next ‘morning’. Maera pushed back the cloth, tugging on her jerkin to see a knot of nervous svirfneblin gathered around a cot on the far side of the room, debating fiercely in their own tongue. “What’s wrong, Goldander?”

The headgnome turned, raising a hand to silence the group as he addressed her. His voice was grave. “Odendal’s company has been attacked. They stopped to inspect one of our new diggings, when something came at them out of the depths. There were seven of them, my lady, and only two have returned.”

She peered over their heads at the occupant of the cot, and recognized Odendal, the captain of the granitehome’s guard. His gray skin had the sickly pallor of a mushroom, and he was heavily wrapped in bandages. An elderly female gnome hovered worriedly near the head of the cot, wearing a holy symbol Maera did not recognize. Her conscience twinged; the gnomes had gone to the mysterious Adalon on her behalf. The ragged remains of Odendal’s mail hung forlornly on an armor rack, dried blood coating the torn rings. Claws had done that. Sharp, monstrously thick claws. Her fingers twitched at the thought and she balled them into fists. “Is there anyone who can lead me back to where it happened?” Almost as one, the gnomes squinted up at her.

“My lady,” Goldander said slowly, “it could be very dangerous.”

She shrugged. “Small price to pay for room and board.” She turned back towards their curtained corner, where the rest of her group had clustered. “Hope you didn’t have anything scheduled for today,” she said, stepping through the partition and reaching for her boots. “I’ve volunteered us for monster killing duty.”

* * *

 

“Gee, thanks Mae. I love being consulted first,” Imoen grumbled as she fussed with her belt pouches. They had returned to the seclusion of the partitions to make ready while Maera spoke with Goldander.

Jaheira leveled an eyebrow at her. “You are not helping, Imoen.”

“Sorry, Jaheira. You’re right.” Imoen’s head dropped, and Kelsey half-chuckled; he’d heard that exact, turn-on-a-pin contrition in Maera’s voice more than once. She gave him a hard look. “What?”

Kelsey held up his hands defensively. “Nothing.” He turned crossly, her bad mood rubbed off like cheap paint. Minsc sighed as he pulled on his gauntlets.

“Everybody is snapping. Like turtles. Big, angry turtles with spiky shells!” The big ranger looked entreatingly at Kelsey. “Why is Maera so mad at us, Kelsey?”

“I don’t think she’s mad, Minsc. I think she’s scared,” he said. He could see her through the slit in the partition, standing alone against the wall, her arms crossed tight over her chest, her eyes distant as the farthest plane. Not even a week before, he would have happily contemplated what she might be thinking. Now he discovered he was a little afraid to know.

* * *

 

A rangy young gnome led the party through the tunnels to the new downward shafts. His nerve failed him as they reached the junction that led towards the spot of the attack, and he fled back to the granitehome with remarkable speed. They all glanced at each other, and proceeded.

There was breathing in the dark, a deep, regular _whoosh_ like an oversized blacksmith’s bellows. Something large of frame lurked just ahead, and the rustle and scrape of its movements had a malicious character. Whatever it was, it knew they were there and did not fear them. Imoen whispered an arcane word and vanished into the shadows, rounding the corner. When she returned a moment later, breaking the spell with a gesture, her face was white. “Balor,” she reported.

“Lovely,” Maera muttered. She looked about quickly, casting a quick eye on their surroundings. “The tunnel’s wider here. We need to draw this way. You two,” she said to the spellcasters, “aren’t going to make much a dent. Keep it distracted, but don’t wear yourselves out. We need to get in close and take it down fast.”

Imoen set a stream of harmless, colorful light down the tunnel at the balor, and it lumbered towards them, growling a challenge. Minsc was there first, bearing the brunt of its heavy claws, catching them on the flat of his blade. He had its attention, which was one of the things he was best at. Maera slipped around its flank, aiming for the thin scales under the shoulder.

Her mind was always busy when she fought, cataloging movements, weighing outcomes. But this time there was a buzzing in the back of her head, an agitated voice of frustration that grew louder with every stroke of her sword. Why wouldn’t it die? Sword be damned, she wanted to rip the creature’s head from its body and splash its blood on the tunnels walls. She could have claws like those, and she could use them better, too.

The demon bled from a score of wounds, black blood seeping down its hide. A growl of frustration rumbled in its deep chest, and it whipped its barbed tail up and around. Maera swung wide, too wide, her foot faltering slightly on the uneven floor. She half turned for an instant - she didn’t see it, but she felt it. The tail’s tip slammed into her right side just as she raised her arm to swing her sword again. Ribs snapped and muscles tore; the world exploded in a white haze of pain, and she had just enough presence of mind to try landing on her uninjured side before everything went black.

* * *

 

“Is there anyone here who can repair her armor?” Jaheira. That was Jaheira’s voice.

“Oh, yes, my lady.” And that was Goldander the svirfneblin. “Though it will take some time. It’s very fine work.”

“That’s just as well,” Jaheira responded, sounding tired. “I have done what I can for her, but she’ll need at least a day to recover.”

She was lying on her back, under a blanket that felt impossibly heavy. Her side ached viciously, and it all came back. Shame and a little fear washed over her, taking up residence in an already unsettled stomach. The next stupid mistake she made might kill her. A warm, damp cloth swabbed gently at her forehead and cheeks, and she turned her head with a small grunt of protest. It was the most she could manage. She opened her eyes, and a blurry face resolved itself as they slowly focused.

“Hey,” Kelsey said softly.

She tried to start up, but he pressed a hand against her bare shoulder. “Maera, please,” he said. “You’re going to be fine, but you have got to rest now. So just stay here, okay?” He wiped at the side of her neck with the cloth in his other hand. She could see blood and dirt on it as he dunked it back in the bowl of water beside him. “I wasn’t done yet anyway.”

The embarrassment in her gut twisted on itself. Why was he doing that? She licked her lips and decided to give speech a go. “Kelsey…” Her throat was too dry, and she coughed, which set muscles moving in her abdomen that were not at all ready for that. Kelsey set aside his cloth and leaned down, bracing the back of her neck with his hand. He lifted a cup to her lips and she drank greedily. The water was ice cold and made her teeth ache and chatter, but she had never had better. “Kelsey,” she tried again, “you shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t what?”

_Shouldn’t be so kind after what I nearly did to you, idiot. Weren’t you there? Another inch and I would have disemboweled you! How can you keep acting like it somehow wasn’t my fault? Why do you insist on being so damn nice to me?!_

She shook her head weakly. She didn’t have the words in her. “Thanks,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome.” She looked up at him, and wondered if it was exhaustion burning her eyes or unshed tears. He looked so sad and resigned. “I’ll stay if you want me to,” he said softly.

She felt his fingers, tentative and devastatingly gentle, brush a lock of hair from her forehead. _Please don’t_ , she thought, _this is hard enough as it is_. But his hand was warm, and gods, it felt so good to be touched. She nodded.

Kelsey shifted to sit near her head, and twined her hair about his fingers absently. It had grown, he realized, since they first met. It was almost to her shoulders now, just an inch or two shy, and the length suited her. Her breathing had deepened, but he couldn’t tell if she slept or not. Her face was still, but far from peaceful. She was beautiful, even then, and his chest ached as he watched her. He just wanted to see her smile again. But it wasn’t just her smile, it was the _way_ she smiled, the way she laughed, the way she walked, the way her body arched against his…

 _Not the thing to be thinking about right now, Coltrane_ , he lectured himself sternly. He sighed and returned to stroking her hair. His fingertips traced the curve of her ear, down to her earlobe. She loved it when he did that, and the reaction he’d gotten when…

 _No._ He withdrew his hand, laced his fingers together, and sighed again.

Imoen stood near the wall, watching them with narrowed eyes. Kelsey could feel her gaze, but he didn’t look up. After a moment, she grabbed Jaheira by the wrist, pulling her behind one of the partitions. Though she was obviously trying to keep her voice down, Kelsey could still hear her.

“Alright, Jaheira, what’s the deal with those two?”

“Would you like me to confirm the evidence of your own eyes, or deny it?”

Imoen’s sigh was exasperated. “I wasn’t in Spellhold _that_ long, was I? Mae is not the sort of person to go jumping into bed with some guy she barely knows.”

“It is my understanding they have been intimate, but obviously I am not privy to details. And is the timeframe so truly important? Some take a far shorter time. A span of minutes, on occasion.” There was mild reproach in Jaheira’s tone, which Imoen ignored.

“This is Maera we’re talking about! She’s not like that! She had a crush on Ajantis for months and never said a word about it! I mean, that wasn’t ever going to go anywhere anyways, but…” Her voice was plaintive. “I don’t get it. What happened while I was gone?”

“Kelsey joined us about a tenday after you were taken. He has proved himself a worthwhile addition since. As for well or not he and Maera know each other, or whether you would deem that amount sufficient, it is not my place to say.” There was silence, and Jaheira sighed. “Imoen, it is a natural thing. We grow beyond our families and find others with whom to share our love. It does not mean she loves you any less.”

The silence grew contemplative, then Imoen wailed, “She won’t talk to me, Jaheira! I know it would all make sense if we could just talk, but she won’t!”

“I know,” Jaheira said softly. “She has been much affected by what Irenicus did. She is not herself.”

Imoen snorted tearfully. “Understatement.”

“It is not just her I am concerned for,” Jaheira added. “These headaches of yours worry me.”

“I can still fight and I can still cast. Don’t worry about me until I can’t anymore.”

Jaheira chuckled sadly. “You two are more alike than you know sometimes.”

* * *

 

Maera was dreaming, but for once she didn’t mind. She was in a broad, soft bed, half-wrapped in silken sheets, and she was not alone. Kelsey was there, smiling at her, sliding a hand over her cheek to clasp the nape of her neck, beneath her hair. She knew that look in his eye, warm, contented, and slightly mischievous. She had seen it before, that morning in Brynnlaw. She returned the smile, luxuriating in the sensation of his hand against her skin as she kissed him, and what began with tenderness was soon overwhelmed with a raw, hungry desperation. Her skin tingled and her limbs were weak, ever movement of his mouth sending aching shudders through her. She could feel his lips against hers, feel the texture of his skin under her hands. Taste, scent, sound – she knew she was dreaming, and she didn’t care.

His mouth moved, kissing along her jaw, down her neck, and she let her head loll back, her fingers tightening their grip on his back. She felt him inhale, his breath hot, and part of her wanted to cry for sheer joy. She needed this, needed him. But just as she closed her eyes, a voice spoke.

“I told you not to hide behind the weak.”

She looked over his shoulder, and froze. She saw herself standing beyond the bed, a twin who shook her head in disappointment. The other her leaned back her head, inhaling with in an obscene parody of pleasure as the shadowy form of the Slayer gathered about her. Kelsey did not seem to have noticed her. “You’ll only get him killed.”

The Slayer’s claws arced downward with a blur, raking Kelsey across the back with sickening wet, tearing sound and tossing him into the floor like a spoiled child discarding a displeasing toy. Maera could only stare as his blood puddled around him; he breathed in quick, agonized gasps, and her own body was frozen, rigid with shock and fear as he lay dying just out of her reach. Her dream self, still cloaked within the Slayer, laughed derisively at her distress, extending a finger to tap her lightly on the nose. It left a dab of blood, cold and damp. “You know, I really don’t understand this obsession with sex. Why settle for the little death when the real thing is so much better?” She shook her head, her shadowed face touched with a grisly smile. “You can run from me, but I’ll still find you. I am the voice in the emptiness, the answer to every question. I am a part of you. The only part that matters.”

Maera woke with a gasp. She was alone, thank the gods. She wasn’t sure she could have faced another person. Gingerly holding her ribs, she sat up. The timelessness of the Underdark chafed at her. There was no way to know how long she’d been asleep. She fumbled for a shirt as Imoen pushed through the curtains.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ll do.” She struggled a bit getting the shirt over her head, and Imoen helped her tug on the sleeves.

“Odendal’s up and around. He wants to take us to Adalon tomorrow if you’re up to it. Though if you ask me, you should both stay in bed for a few more days.”

“We can’t waste the time,” Maera said. “Every day we spend here, Irenicus gets farther ahead of us.”

“I get that, Mae. We’re in this together, remember?”

“Yeah. You’re right.” She pushed past her sister. “I should talk to Goldander.”

Imoen indulged in a brief fantasy that involved using a pry bar to remove Maera’s self-involved head from whatever part of her anatomy it was lodged in, then sighed, hoping she wasn’t too irritated to memorize her spells.

* * *

 

Odendal Breachgnome moved tentatively as he led the way to Adalon’s cave, his gray skin still pale. Maera could sympathize; despite the excellence of Jaheira’s work, she wasn’t exactly moving at her best pace either. They crossed icy streams, skirted the edges of impossibly deep fissures, and wove between stalactites for hours before he brought them to a wide, open cave mouth. “Follow the stairs down,” he said. “The Lady Adalon waits for you below.” They thanked him as he set off in the direction of the granitehome once more, and they descended to meet the mysterious Adalon.

She stood in the center of a pool of light at least twenty feet in diameter. They all blinked and shielded their eyes; it was the brightest thing any of them had seen for days. Adalon appeared to be a tall human woman long, silvery hair and a pale, ageless, haughtily beautiful face. “Your prey has already left the Underdark,” she said without preamble. “They have set their plans in motion and returned to the surface to see their fruition.” Maera swore under her breath, but the woman continued. “You can still disrupt those plans, however. I can aid you in this, but I will require a service of you first.”

“And that is?”

“You must retrieve my eggs.”

Maera blinked. “Excuse me?”

Adalon sighed. “The svirfneblin were too discreet, I see. Will this help?” Within the space of a heartbeat, the human figure was gone. In her place, taking up the entirety of the circle of light, was a silver dragon, lustrous scales gleaming with almost painful brightness. Every jaw dropped. She was majestic as a mountain range, and equally intimidating. “I am the Guardian,” she said, her voice echoing richly through the cavern. “I have maintained the truce between the drow and their surface brethren for centuries. The city of Ust Natha is a ceremonial outpost. It marks the place where the first drow descended into the dark. All these years, they have remained below, the elves have remained above, and I have taken no part in their affairs other than to make certain they continued thus.

“But now they have crossed me. They have stolen my eggs! I may not go into the city myself in search of them, so I must make use of you. You will go into Ust Natha and return my eggs to me. In return, I will lead you out of the Underdark to the place Irenicus has fled.”

“Are we supposed to just march into a Drow city, then?” Imoen asked.

“Hardly.” The dragon puffed out a contemptuous breath. “The eyes of mortals are easily deceived. It would be nothing for me to send you among them wearing their own faces.”

“You can turn us into drow?” Maera felt herself struggling to keep up; she was still stuck on the fact they were talking to a dragon.

“No. But I can create an utterly convincing illusion. You will appear to them as a group already expected. When you speak, they will hear their own tongue.”

“We don’t have a lot of choice here, do we?”

Adalon flexed her wings in the draconic equivalent of a shrug. “I have named my price.”

The group huddled. “Drow?” Kelsey blurted. “She wants us to pretend to be drow?”

“If the theft of a silver dragon’s eggs was at Irenicus’s behest, his plans are more far reaching than we had thought,” Jaheira said. “It is a risk, but one we must take, I believe.”

Maera pursed her lips. “I agree. I’m not thrilled at the prospect, but we are ridiculously conspicuous down here. And if getting back her eggs disrupts Irenicus’s precious plans, then I am all for that.” She glanced at Minsc, whose brow was deeply furrowed. “What’s wrong, Minsc?”

“I do not want to change my face,” he said, a touch of petulance creeping into his voice. “I like my face! Boo likes my face! The ladies like my face! Why doesn’t the dragon?”

Maera smiled, the first genuine smile to touch her lips in days, and gently patted the big man’s bald head. “I like your face, too, Minsc. But I think we’re going to have to do this Adalon’s way.”

His shoulders slumped. “Heroes do not sneak about! We tap evil on the shoulder and punch it in the face! Then evil knows who’s boss!”

“I know. I’d love to be punching right now, too, I believe. I’d love to be able to do this our own way, but we’re out of our element down here. Just keep cool and follow my lead, okay?” The ranger nodded glumly, and Maera turned back Adalon, hoping she could follow her own advice. “All right, my lady. We agree.”

Adalon lowered her long neck to meet Maera’s eye level. “What do you know of the drow?”

Maear thought hard, summoning back long days in the library. “They’re a deeply matriarchal society. Their cities are ruled by Houses that constantly fight for prominence. The worship of Lolth is absolute – they have other gods, but their worship is almost entirely forbidden. They don’t believe in trust. Or love. They have no native word for mercy.” Her perspective had shifted suddenly; she shook her head, disoriented, then realized why. Adalon’s illusion had worked as she spoke and now it was complete. She was shorter.

“Even your own senses must be fooled if the illusion is to be complete,” Adalon said. Maera and the others tried not to gawk at each other. Jaheira at least looked mostly like herself, only repainted in a drow palette. But the sharp, dark, elvish faces that Imoen, Kelsey, and Minsc wore were so unlike the human features she was accustomed to it was like finding herself surrounded by strangers. She turned over her hands in astonishment – the palms did not lighten like a dark-skinned human’s would, and the scars weren’t in the right places. Even her fingernails were shaped differently. “As the leader of this group, you will speak for them. You are Veldrin of Ched Nassad and you were sent here by your Matron Mother. Great things are afoot, and she wishes you to obtain glory and advancement for your House. Your aid will be useful to them, but you are a foreigner, so you will be tested. Show them no weakness.” She swiveled her great head about to look at Jaheira. “Druid. You will wish to be careful in the spells you cast, so you do not reveal your…unorthodox theology. And you, little thief,” she addressed Imoen, “Females do not practice the arcane arts. Do not use your magic in the presence of any drow, lest you find yourself answering very uncomfortable questions.” Imoen nodded nervously.

Adalon gestured with a clawed forefoot, and an image of the caves beyond appeared before them. “We are here.” She made another motion, and it changed, indicating a path through the darkness. “As you can see, Ust Natha is near. Go now. Do as I have charged, and my gratitude and aid shall be yours.”

* * *

 

At the gates of Ust Natha, a single guard accosted them. “Halt! Go no further!” Something about his tone irritated Maera. It had not been a good tenday, and finally, she realized, she had someone to take it out on. She sneered.

“No wonder our aid is so welcome, if you’re is the best Ust Natha has to show for itself. I am Veldrin of Ched Nassad. My arrival has been anticipated, so it would be wise to get out of my way.” She fixed the guard with a weighted stare, and was pleased to see his composure crack.

“O-of course, honored female. Our Matron Mothers will be informed of your coming immediately.” She nodded once, and swept past him into the city, Veldrin’s face as smooth and unreadable as a mask.


	14. False Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Did the drow weave such complex webs because of Lolth, or had they attracted the Spider Queen’s eye for their own natural ability at it?_

“So this is my reward for years of loyal service. I break my back for this city, and this is how I am thanked. Are we truly so overextended that _you_ are the best I have to work with?” The drow drummed his fingers on the table before him and stared up at Maera. Solaufein, pride of the Ust Natha Male Fighters’ Society, was already on her list after an acquaintance of scarcely five minutes. “As if I do not have enough to do in a day,” he groused. “Do not expect your hand to be held.”

Arms crossed, Maera looked sidelong over her shoulder at her party, then back down at Solaufein. “I can’t speak for you, but no one on this side of the table needs a nursemaid.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she might have gone too far. To her relief, he barked a single laugh and appraised her anew, something akin to wry humor in his red eyes. “You have a spine at least. That bodes well.” He gestured about the common room of the Ust Natha inn vaguely. “A suite of rooms has been set aside for you upstairs. Settle in, then meet me back down here. One of the Handmaidens has a task, so you won’t have to wait long to prove yourself.” He pushed back his chair as they turned to go, saying, “Your sword, Veldrin. It’s an unusual weapon.”

Panic gripped her. Adalon’s illusion had altered their clothing and armor; she had not even noticed that Daystar remained unchanged. The wheels turned swiftly, and a lie appeared. “A trophy. I got it off a surfacer.”

Solaufein cocked an eyebrow. “Interesting.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t take too long. Time is of the essence, as I have lately been told.”

Their suite consisted of a circular sitting room and four bedrooms. Imoen and Jaheira claimed the shared room without comment. There was little to say; they all still felt awkward in their borrowed forms. Minsc in particular, now nearly a foot shorter and at least a hundred pounds lighter, was so withdrawn and hunch-shouldered that he was unconsciously presenting the perfect image of the subservient drow male. They set aside their packs in silence, but there was little ‘settling in’ to do. That phrase implied ease, and there was none of that for any of them.

When they descended, Solaufein stood waiting. “Follow me.”

Maera had never given much thought to the details of an underground city’s layout, but even those few thoughts had never lighted on anything like Ust Natha. The buildings were spire-like, cut from natural formations, it seemed. Between them, from far below near the unseen bottom of the cavern, to high above their heads, were strung the multitude of platforms and walkways that were the city streets. A graceful, bright green spider the size of a large dog glided by, followed by a thin halfling male in a dingy smock and a heavy iron collar, his skin splotchy and unhealthy, his eyes vague. Maera felt a hot surge of anger, and ducked her head to hide her expression as they passed an armored female wearing a holy symbol of Lolth.

Solaufein led them along the winding walk towards a platform near the city gates, and Maera decided the thing that currently irritated her the most about him was the fact he was taller than her. In her natural state, the only man she had to look up at was Minsc. “House Despana currently holds the greatest prominence here,” he said to her. “They have risen quickly due to…recent events, but by extension, they stand for a precipitous fall, should things go awry, especially now. Your Matron Mother sending you at this juncture is a major coup for them, but it adds to the pressure.”

Without meaning to, she found herself following the thread, and replied, “Other cities are taking notice.” He nodded in agreement and she was about to thank him for the information when she remembered the source. “And why are you telling me this?”

He laughed his singular laugh again. “Admirable caution, but unnecessary. No politics here, merely conversation. I am not Despana. I simply observe, and do as I am told. Besides, if you fail to distinguish yourselves, I’m sure there will be plenty of blame to fall on me as well, so we must all shore up these walls together, mustn’t we?”

Conversation failed as they reached their destination. Imrae, the Handmaiden of Lolth, was waiting for them, and the chill in the air that spread outward from her was palpable. Nothing about her physical form _seemed_ prepossessing, but there was an unmistakable aura of silent danger about her. Her cool eyes did not bother to measure any of them up; as far she was concerned, they were already lacking. _Gods_ , Maera thought, _no wonder nobody likes the drow_.

Solaufein made a low obeisance. “The foreigners, Handmaiden.”

“I am not blind, male.” She fixed her expressionless eyes on Maera, tilting her head ever so slightly. “You are Veldrin?”

“I am, Handmaiden.” Holding her gaze was like being buried in an avalanche.

“I will not mince words. In an act of pure defiance, intellect devourers have kidnapped the favored daughter of Matron Mother Ardulace of House Despana. She must be retrieved, and they must be taught a sharp lesson.”

“Devourers? You mean mind flayers?” The question slipped out, and Maera cursed herself for a fool, but rescue came from a surprising quarter.

Solaufein cocked his head, real, honest-to-Oghma curiosity lighting his eyes. “Mind flayers. Is that what they are referred to as in Ched Nassad?”

Imrae obviously had no time for intellectual interest. Her mouth twisted a mere fraction, but it was more than enough to silence him. “Solaufein, do you wish a visit to the driders?”

“No, Handmaiden.”

“Then hold your tongue. I am speaking with a female.” He ducked his head and took a step back. “The devourers are returning to their own city with their prisoner even now. Solaufein will conduct you to the best place along their path for ambush. If you fail, do not bother to return.” With that, she turned, obviously finished with them.

With a visible shudder, Solaufein started them back towards the inn. “I told you you wouldn’t have to wait long for a chance to prove yourself,” he said, his tone attempting levity and failing. “Take a few hours for some rest. I will come for you when it’s time.”

They ordered dinner, and trudged up to their suite. No one was surprised that Maera shut herself in her room to eat in solitude. They all wished that they were.

Behind her closed door, Maera sat on the edge of her bed and stared at Veldrin’s face in the mirror opposite. The long, slim face that looked back at her was attractive enough, she supposed, though she had no idea what exactly the drow considered beautiful. She scrunched her nose and moved her eyebrows; she tried a smile, but even if it hadn’t looked unnatural, it felt it.

What had she gotten them into now? Playing politics among the drow got more than enough drow killed, and she was sure she wasn’t that good an actress. Of one thing she was certain: Irenicus had not been engaging in hyperbole when he said her part in his plans was small. Whatever he was up to, the fact he had managed to get an entire drow city involved indicated an unnerving broadness of scope. She wondered if he had a checklist.

Step one: Steal Bhaalspawn soul.

Step two: Wreak havoc (invite drow).

Step three: ?

She shook her head in frustration. There were still too many missing pieces. She had most of the edges, but it was the middle she needed. She sighed and raked her fingers through her white hair. It was longer than she was used to, and she toyed with the idea of braiding it. It had been years since worn her hair in braids. She glanced back at the mirror. The face there looked sad, and she straightened herself stubbornly. _Drow don’t do sad_ , she told herself.

Someone knocked at the door, and it opened slightly, revealing a female drow in familiar clothing. It took Maera a second to recognize the face as Imoen’s.

“Solaufein’s here,” her sister announced. “Are you ready to go?”

She stood, and buckled on her sword belt. “Always.”

* * *

 

They peered over the jagged rocks, down the steep slope into the narrow passage below that led to the illithid city. They had crouched there for at least a quarter hour and Maera’s legs were starting to cramp. “Do you have a plan, Solaufein?” she asked, her voice hushed.

He shot her a quick glance. “I’m honored you would condescend to ask. And I do, in point of fact. We kill them, as quickly as possible.”

“Truly, you are a tactical mind for the generations.”

He shrugged. “You asked.” From the corner of her eye, Maera saw Kelsey’s lips tighten. “You know what devourers can do,” he continued, his eyes returned to the passage below. “Best to deal with them as expediently as one can.” There was movement below, and Solaufein swore. “Umber hulks! They have umber hulks with them!”

Maera returned the shrug in kind. An idea was forming in her mind, its steps falling together in rapid order. “Same plan, right? Just faster.” She slowly unsheathed Daystar, the blade sliding from the leather with a whisper. She glanced over her shoulder at Kelsey and Imoen. “Cover me.”

Solaufein’s eyes widened. “Veldrin! What do you think you’re doing?”

Edging along the rocks, she waited until the lead illithid was almost under her. “What? It was your plan.” And then she jumped.

Even as she landed on the mind flayer sword-first, Kelsey stood, calculating angles. The narrow passage was perfect for a lightning bolt, but he could see the pale head of a female drow in the midst of the throng and knew he didn’t dare. Jaheira spotted her too, however, and he mentally thanked the druid for her quick thinking as she shoved Solaufein and Minsc ahead of her, skidding down between the rocks. The trio snatched the prisoner and dashed out of the way as Kelsey let the magic flow through him, the air cracking as light and heat left his hands, arcing down among the illithid and their slaves.

Maera heard the lightning behind her, and felt the hair on her head rise as it passed. But she spared no time to look; after slipping up against the balor, she was determined not to lose her focus again. She slashed at the illithid’s tentacled face, ducking hard to her right as it reached for her with its unnaturally long-fingered hand. An arrow sank into its shoulder, and another lower on its torso – even in the dim light of the Underdark, Imoen’s eye was not to be underestimated. Dark purple blood spread on the creature’s strange, mottled robes, and Maera finished it with a sharp blow to the throat. The heavy step of an umber hulk gave her no time to catch her breath; she dove between its massive legs, driving Daystar up at the base of its spine. More arrows peppered the umber hulk’s front, and she rolled to her feel to hear as it roared. There was a sizzling hiss, and one of Kelsey’s fire arrows struck a multi-faceted eye, bringing it down. Maera drove her sword through one of the others, just to be sure.

As the last of the umber hulks fell, the prisoner, who had been pressed warily against the cave wall, straightened, dusting off her cloak. As she adjusted herself, she caught sight of Solaufein, an expression of recognition on her lovely face. She began to laugh, shoulders shaking. “Poor Solaufein!” she exclaimed. “How it must gall you to have been sent after me.”

His face was carefully neutral. “I go where I am sent, and I do as I am instructed. You know this, Phaere.”

“Of course.” Her lips twitched in catty amusement. “And you,” she said to Maera, “I don’t recognize that house insignia. Would you be the ones sent from Ched Nassad?” Maera nodded the affirmative. “Excellent. That was a pretty bit of fighting…the Matron will be pleased we were not sent dross.” She slid a hand across Solaufein’s shoulder in an overly familiar and obviously unwelcome fashion. “Will you conduct us back to Ust Natha, brave warrior?” Her smirk had a malignant edge.

“You know the way back,” he replied. “I will take up the rear.” She looked as if she were about to make a vulgar play on his words, then shrugged, leaving Maera and her party to follow in bewildered silence. Only Kelsey noticed that Solaufein stopped to slam his fist into the cave wall before proceeding.

* * *

 

They were summoned down to the common room the next day to find Phaere holding court at a corner table with Solaufein in glowering attendance. “Veldrin!” she said sweetly. “Good of you to join us. This male is tedious company. But then you probably already knew that. It doesn’t take long to notice.” He snorted, crossing his arms and examining the ceiling, clearly irritated. There was a story there, Maera was sure of it. Phaere continued as if he hadn’t made a sound, fluttering her fingers in a welcoming gesture. “Please, sit. We have business to discuss. The Matron and the Handmaidens were very impressed by the report I gave of my rescue at your hands. In consequence, they have other tasks they wish you to undertake, which means that for now, I have been given charge of you to see that they are done. Our own fighters are much engaged elsewhere in the first phase of our…operation, so your presence here in the city provides you with an excellent chance to prove yourself useful. Do so and you may get to play a greater part in events to come.”

Seeing her opening, Maera asked, “What events, exactly?”

Phaere smiled conspiratorially over the rim of her wine cup. “Much still depends on discretion, but I can say that should our plans go well, as they no doubt will, being allied with House Despana will be very propitious for you. But for today…Mother Lolth requires your service. There is a cult of Ghaunadaurites in the lower levels of the city who must be dealt with. Filthy, muck-loving apostates. The entirety of the city must be unswerving in its devotion to Lolth. Dissent before the Spider Queen is never to be tolerated, but especially not now.” She inspected her perfectly manicured nails. “Solaufein will, of course, accompany you.”

He fixed her with a flat, disgusted stare. “They don’t need me. You know that.”

“Why, Solaufein,” she asked innocently, “what happened to going where you were sent and doing as you were told? I have given you an order, and you will carry it out.”

“Very well,” he muttered between ground teeth. She swept away with a condescending smile, and he scowled at her back. “Arrogance. Pure arrogance!”

Despite herself, Maera was intrigued. He was not at all what she’d expected from a drow male. “You don’t like a little arrogance in a female, Solaufein?”

“Not her kind.” He rubbed at his eyes with displeasure. “Ghaunadaurites. Commoners who think turning from the Spider Queen will somehow better their lot. It will be a slaughter, and worse, it will be pointless.” He sighed. “Get your gear. The sooner we begin, the sooner we will be done.”

* * *

 

It had been exactly as Solaufein had predicted, and everyone returned to the inn in low spirits, feeling somewhat dirty, and not just because they had been in a sewer. Maera had cleaned up and in short order, vanished, saying only that she would be back, leaving the rest of them to sit in the small sitting room of their suite in downcast silence.

Kelsey had his journal out in front of him, but despite the multitude of thoughts buzzing about in his head, he found he did not want to write any of them down. His last entry, written in Brynnlaw the evening before they left for Spellhold, mocked him with his own optimism and happiness. Everything had seemed so straightforward. None of them had known they were standing on a precipice, about to be flung into a nightmare, and he knew Maera well enough to know she blamed herself. Spellhold clung to her, like burrs from a thornbush, and, even though she was obviously trying to hide it, he could see the fear in her eyes. He did not want to imagine what it must have been to be the Slayer, even for a few moments, if the experience had terrified her so. He wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be all right, and he wanted to believe that she would let him. But there was nothing to take for granted now. No assumption was safe. He closed the notebook and stuffed it in his pocket. Writing wouldn’t help

He missed her. That was the worst part. He missed her, even when she was in the same room.

He also knew he wasn’t the only one. Her withdrawal had hurt the entire party. Like an ocean current, she pulled them along with her, her drive infectious enough to give them all a sense of purpose. He hadn’t realized how much they had relied on her until she pulled away. Minsc sat at a table, glumly feeding Boo some bit of foreign root vegetable (only after Jaheira had declared it safe) and Imoen sat beside him, head resting on his shoulder, her borrowed face drawn and melancholic. Jaheira emerged from her bed chamber, and placed a professional hand on the younger woman’s forehead.

“You are _still_ running that fever,” she said testily.

“It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose, Jaheira.”

“It is very frustrating!” Jaheira exclaimed, startling Boo, who ran up Minsc’s sleeve in a panic. “I do not like being incapable of aid!”

“It’s not your fault,” Imoen said soothingly. Her head remained in place. Kelsey realized, with a pang of sympathy, that she was having another one of her headaches. “This obviously isn’t a physical thing.”

Jaheira exhaled sharply. “I cannot help you, I cannot help Maera, I-” She bit off her words. “Excuse me.” As she strode back into the bedroom, Kelsey could have sworn he saw tears glittering in her eyes.

Something prompted him to his feet, and he was standing in the doorway of Jaheira and Imoen's room before he quite knew what had propelled him there. Jaheira's back was turned, her shoulders as straight as ever, but the slight tilt of her neck told the story. “Jaheira, I...” he began. She made no sign of acknowledgment. He took a deep breath, and started over. “I just wanted to say I understand.”

She rounded on him, and he instinctively took a step back. “She has held me at arm's length before,” she cried angrily. “But never has she pushed me away so completely!” Her shoulders slumped a fraction of a degree, her eyes miserable. “If she thinks I am disappointed in her, or angry...she should not! This is not her making; she does not have to hide from me!”

It was a rare privilege, Kelsey realized, to be allowed to hear Jaheira’s thoughts, especially these. “I know it’s not the same, but…I know. Believe me, I do,” he said. Jaheira was silent. “You really love her, don't you?”

She gave him a measuring look. “That is a foolish question,” she said evenly. “And if I were in the habit of asking foolish questions, I would direct the same to you.”

He sighed, his eyes seeking out the floor. “I'd think that's obvious.”

“Precisely.”

“I'm not sure it matters now though,” he said. “I have no idea if she still wants anything to do with me. I don’t even know where she is right now.” His voice lowered, and he could not keep the bitterness from it as he added in a mutter, “Probably with Solaufein.”

“And what does that signify, hmm?” Jaheira cocked an eyebrow at him. “Tell me, Kelsey, are you always so quick to give up? Accepting defeat even when you are not yet beaten?”

She didn't need the staff, he marveled; she could bludgeon a man with that eyebrow alone. “I guess I am.”

“You should work on that.”

And _that_ was why Maera, who seemingly feared no one, would scuff her feet like a scolded child in Jaheira’s presence. He ducked his head. “I guess I should.”

The gentleness of her next words surprised him. “We must both give her time. It is all we can do.”

* * *

 

Maera had not wandered far, though she realized she had likely given the opposite impression when she left. Hunger had stopped her in the downstairs common, but the only remotely appetizing thing she could find to eat was some sort of bizarre nut that reminded her of almonds. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it really was, so she sat and munched in solitude, chin in hand. The Ust Nathan regulars watched her with cautious condescension, and she really didn’t care enough to be unnerved.

“I would think a warrior might require a bit more fuel to maintain her strength,” Solaufein remarked. She glanced up. He stood opposite her, across the small table. He hadn’t been there a moment ago, but she didn’t feel like letting him unnerve her, either.

“It’s all that appeals to me at the moment,” she said. “And I thought we agreed you wouldn’t be playing nursemaid?”

“Thankfully, you’ve set my mind at ease on that score.” He gestured at the chair in front of him. “May I?”

“Knock yourself out.”

“Knock myself out,” he repeated as he sat. “Ched Nassad has some fascinating slang.” She had to smile faintly at that.

“So what are you doing here, Solaufein?” She took a drink of her wine. It was quite sweet, and tingled slightly on the tongue. She wondered what it was made from. “I thought you had important things to do.”

“I suppose I wanted to be sure Phaere didn’t have you doing anything immensely stupid behind my back.”

So they were old enemies after all. “You’re warning me off her. Why?”

“She’s dangerous.”

“Everyone’s dangerous,” she chuckled bitterly. “Including me.”

“I don’t doubt that.” His scrutiny discomfited her, and she returned the look with some belligerence. He looked away, and about the common room, as if seeking out a specific face. “Your companions keep to themselves a great deal, I’ve noticed.”

She shrugged. “They’re here because of me. They shouldn’t have to suffer with this hole anymore than necessary.”

Once again, she worried belatedly that she had been too blunt, and once again, he surprised her with a laugh. “Ched Nassad must truly be our superior.”

She played along with another dry smile. “A veritable paradise.”

A hoot of laughter rose from a neighboring table, where a cluster of young drow sat. The laughter had come from the female who sat with her chair leaned back, one foot propped on the table, a cup of wine in her hand. The way the others were ranged about her marked her as the leader of this particular pack, and they all chortled as the reclined humorist called, “Looking for a new bed to crawl into, Solaufein?”

Solaufein briefly closed with his eyes with obvious, profound exasperation. “Bitter that I would not crawl into yours, Li’daer?”

“Why should I be?” she snorted. “I’m not the one who has to go sniffing after foreigners for my pleasure.” The table snickered in unison.

Maera watched the exchange with raised eyebrows. “Who’s that charming creature?” she asked.

“Li’daer Jae'llat,” he replied. “A younger daughter of the House.”

“Got something to prove, does she?” He nodded, and Maera stood. On the one hand, it was probably a stupid idea, but on the other…she just couldn’t help herself.

“Are you going to defend Solaufein’s honor, foreigner?” Li’daer smirked. “How very…what’s the word the surfacers use – ‘chivalrous’.” She mangled the pronunciation, and Maera rolled her eyes.

“Hardly,” Maera said coolly. “If he can’t take care of himself by now, he’s a lost cause. But I have decided that you’re annoying, and I don’t like you.”

“Harsh words.” Li’daer’s lips moved into a tiny, icy smile. “Was it your cutting wit that made Despana so eager to snap you up?” Her court murmured approval.

“It must be refreshing to be so ignorant,” Maera retorted, walking slowly towards the Jae’llat table. The rest of the common room had gone silent; she would have to make this good. “I am allied with House Despana because they were the ones smart enough to know that making use of me freed them for other business. And look - I don’t see any Despana here this evening. They must all be out advancing the cause of this city, while you sit here soaking in wine and playing with males.” She rounded the table, and stared down at Li’daer’s suddenly livid face. This was actually turning out to be rather enjoyable. “I may be a foreigner, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be heckled by the younger daughters of insignificant Houses just because they think that makes them look important in front of their even less significant friends.” She pressed the side of her foot against the front legs of Li’Daer’s chair and jerked upward, sending it and the drow seated on it tumbling back onto the floor. The clatter of the furniture and thump of the soft body hitting the stones was the only sound in the room. “Learn some respect, or I’ll teach it to you.”

She turned on her heel, leaving Li’daer stammering angrily, her followers glancing at each other with careful uncertainty, none wanting to be the first to move. Stalking back to her table, she reseated herself across from Solaufein, who had covered his mouth with a hand in a vain attempt to hide his grin. “That was magnificent,” he said between his fingers.

“It was stupid. But satisfying. You get her kind everywhere; puppies yapping as loud as they can to make themselves seem bigger than they really are.” She drained the last swallow from her wine cup, glancing over her shoulder as Li’daer and her most devoted hangers-on stormed past. “I suppose I should head back upstairs and try to get some sleep. Phaere will be back tomorrow, I expect?”

“I’m sure of it.” Solaufein’s expression grew grave. “I know you were being flip before, Veldrin, but she _is_ using you for her own purpose, above and beyond the goals of her House. Remember that.”

He knew far, far more than he was telling. What was his angle in all this? “I wouldn’t expect anything less of her. Good night, Solaufein.”

* * *

 

Phaere was indeed back the next morning, presiding over a breakfast that involved very soft rolls, and some sort of egg. “I heard about your little altercation with Li’daer Jae’llat last night,” she said, smiling almost benignly.

“She irritated me,” Maera said.

“Providing irritation to others is perhaps her greatest skill.” Phaere met Maera’s eyes, still smiling. “It pleases me that you so openly declared for my House, as well. We build upon one another’s successes now.” Solaufein’s words of warning from the previous night echoed in her mind, but in spite of herself, Maera found she was fascinated by the machinations. Did the drow weave such complex webs because of Lolth, or had they attracted the Spider Queen’s eye for their own natural ability at it?

“But obviously,” Phaere continued, “we are not here solely to congratulate ourselves. I have come with another task for you. It involves the svirfneblin.” She rested her chin on her interlaced fingers. “There’s a whole colony of them a few hours from here – an infestation, to be frank. You may have encountered them on your way here, and if you did, I’m very sorry, because they’ve become quite uppity in the last month or so. They need to be brought back in hand, and that, my dear Veldrin, is where you come in. Solaufein will lead you to their nasty little hole, and you will…remind them of drow superiority.”

Solaufein exploded. “Gnomes?! You expect me to waste my time with _gnomes_? Who, and what, do you think I am, Phaere?”

The indulgent smile vanished. Glacier runoff was warmer than Phaere’s features. “I think you are a male,” she said, enunciating each word with painful clarity. “A male who has been spoiled and coddled for _far_ too long. You will remember your place, or I will personally give you to the Handmaidens!” She stood, brows drawn in a tight, angry line. “Take a trophy of some sort when you’re done with the gnomes, Veldrin. Mother Ardulace has a collection.” She reached down and drew a fingertip along Kelsey’s jaw line. He gulped hard and tried not to flinch. “At least your males know how to be docile.” She stalked away.

Maera, to her surprise, found that she had half started out of her chair before the forebrain kicked in to remind her publicly pummeling the favorite daughter of the preeminent House in Ust Natha would be a bad idea. Fortunately, Solaufein was too lost in his own personal fury to notice.

“Gnomes. GNOMES. She’s doing this on purpose! She wants to grind me down! I should just happily stoop to any menial task she gives me, should I? I am the favored son of my House! I am first among the Male Fighters’ Society! She has no right!”

As his litany of abuses rolled forth, Maera spurred her brain for a solution. She didn’t want to hurt the svirfneblin. Not after what they had done for her and her group. Certainly not after what Odendal had suffered on their behalf. But there was no way she could think of spare them with Solaufein along. Unless… “Solaufein,” she interrupted. “You don’t have to come with us.”

He cut off mid-rant, words fading in surprise. “I what?”

“You don’t have to come with us. We can handle gnomes on our own. You’re right, Phaere’s obviously making you join us out of spite. So why not spite her back? You can go back to your quarters and relax, and no one will be the wiser.”

“You’d cross her, then?” He raised an eyebrow.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“Very well.” He looked pleased, but there was a spark in his eyes that made her nervous. She had just given him something more than a half-day’s downtime, and she had no idea what it was. “Fetch me when the business is done.”

When he was gone, Imoen said softly, “So we’re not really gonna hurt the gnomes?”

“Of course not,” Maera replied, also sotto voce. “Have I really been acting like that much of a drow you think I would?”

No one wanted to answer that.

* * *

 

The granitehome guard patrol had almost fainted in a collective wave of terror at the sight of five armed drow approaching them out of the dark. The chief female of the group had demanded to be taken to Goldander Blackenrock, and had done so by name. Now they were closeted with the headgnome, and the whole of the granitehome waited, nerves wracked by anticipation.

“Goldander, it’s me,” Maera said. “Adalon changed us. It’s an illusion!” She unbelted her sword and held it flat on her palms, still sheathed. “You recognize my sword, right?”

The gnome gulped, examining Daystar’s distinctive hilt closely. “I had heard of Lady Adalon’s illusions, but had never seen them in the flesh before. Er, as it were, of course.” He circled them, and, unable to contain his curiosity, poked Imoen in the side. She yelped, and hearing such an undignified sound come from a drow made him giggle. “Remarkable! But, my lady, why have you returned?”

“The drow think we’re working for them. They sent us here because they think your people needed to be taught a lesson. It would be a good idea for you to lay low for a while.”

“Oh. Of course!” He nodded furiously. “We can retreat to a deeper clime easily enough.”

“Then you should do that as soon as possible. And…is there anything you can give me that I can show them as a trophy?”

Goldander patted himself, thinking, then drew his short sword. Reversing the blade, he handed it to her over his arm. It was more like a dagger in her hand. “I thank you, my lady,” he said solemnly. “No doubt the real drow would have laid waste to us.” He bowed to them. “I must make arrangements for my people’s departure.”

They took their time going back to Ust Natha, concentrating on the trails. One mistaken turn could leave them wandering in the dark forever. But it was a long walk, and they paused to take a brief rest by a small, rushing stream. The black water surged noisily towards a drop-off about twenty paces downstream, where it tumbled into the darkness in a cloud of white spray.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Imoen murmured to Jaheira.

“There is beauty even here,” the druid agreed, rearranging her pack. “Nature is below the earth as well as upon it, but I still prefer to be under the sky, not the ground.”

“It’ll be nice to see the sky again,” Imoen said distantly. Minsc gently patted the top of her head, then made a face. It was obviously odd for him to have to raise his hand to do so.

Maera stood off to the side, staring into the water, her arms crossed. It was funny, Kelsey thought, that he could recognize that body language in an instant, despite her appearance. Before, that stance would have prompted him to approach her, talk to her, help her work through whatever she was puzzling over. But she had been so forbidding, so distant. Would that even work now? Then Jaheira’s words came back to him; he had nothing to lose in the effort. He took a deep breath, and was about to take a step when Maera looked up and said, “We should get moving.”

They crossed the stream, and continued on. They began to recognize landmarks, and none of them were sure if that was a good thing or not. When they arrived back in Ust Natha, they wasted little time in retrieving Solaufein from his quarters.

“I see the gnomes did not threaten to overwhelm you in my absence,” he quipped, leading them on one of the upper walkways to Phaere’s quarters.

“Oh, we sent them on their way quite well enough on our own,” Maera replied.

“Part of me wishes I could tell her. Just to see the look on her face. But sometimes having knowledge that another does not is reward enough.”

Maera made a point of keeping her face as still as possible. “Definitely.”

Phaere’s quarters in the Female Fighters’ Society were only a few rooms, but they were elaborately and elegantly furnished. The party presented themselves to her, and Maere gave a brief and highly fictionalized account of the events at the granitehome. Phaere smiled. “Mother Ardulace will be very pleased, Veldrin. She wants to meet you. I have encouraged her to make you a part of the next step in our undertaking, and I believe she will. We have need of leaders like you. Your coming has been very fortunate for us all. So go. Rest now. She will send for you in the next day or so.” She turned to Solaufein. “You, on the other hand, are done. I don’t want you anywhere near the remainder of this operation. For now, you are confined to your quarters, but after your outburst earlier, I have half a mind to have you tortured for my amusement. It’s obvious no one has taken the time maintain discipline with you lately.”

Solaufein’s jaw went tight. “I dare you.”

She stiffened with shock, and stared at him as if he had just spit in her face. “What?”

“I. Dare. You.”

“Remember who I am, male!” she hissed.

“Oh, I do, Phaere. I know _very_ well who you are. And I’m calling your bluff. You wouldn’t dare offend my House at this stage, not with so much on the line. So go ahead. See what Matron Ardulace would say. See what my own Matron, and the Matrons of every other House in this city would say. Take a chance, Phaere! Gamble on your position!” His eyes blazed. “Is hurting me worth it?”

Phaere stared at him, her whole body shaking with rage. Her lips moved uselessly for a moment before she managed to force out a growl. “Get out.” The words freed, her voice rose to a screaming crescendo. “All of you, get OUT!”

* * *

 

They returned to the inn and retired. Maera had only barely dozed off when there was a pounding on her door. She fumbled for the lamp and Daystar simultaneously as the door swung open, revealing Phaere. “Return to your beds,” she said to the others in their doorways. “I have business with Veldrin.”

She closed the door, and immediately began pacing, her agitation shimmering off her like a heat mirage. “Veldrin, there is something you must do for me. This very night.” She stopped and fixed Maera with earnest, furious eyes. “You have to kill Solaufein.”

 


	15. The School of Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I’m gonna need a flow chart to keep this straight."_

Maera sat up, returning her sword to its stand by the bed, and waited. Phaere resumed her pacing. “He’s right, you know,” she said bitterly. “House Despana cannot have him openly put to death. Not now. But he _galls_ me so! He defies me for his sport! I will not stand for it any longer. If you kill him, quietly, no blame can be cast on my House and there will be no interruption to our endeavors.” She stopped again. “Will you do this for me, Veldrin?”

Mind racing, Maera asked slowly, “How do I know you won’t denounce me when he’s dead?”

Phaere sat at the foot of the bed. “A prudent question. Very well. I will pay you in information.” She leaned towards Maera, voice lowered. “We are making war on the surfacers. Already, two waves of our army have met the elves above and been victorious. We have even defiled one of their temples.” Maera tensed in fascinated horror. Had Irenicus put the drow up to this? For what purpose? Reading her body language as surprised admiration, Phaere continued. “Magnificent, is it not? And we have a greater plan that will ensure their complete devastation. I can make you a part of it, but I will tell you no more until you do this for me.” She picked at the bed’s coverlet. “He will have to seem to disappear, so you will have to dispose of his body completely. Maybe have that pretty mager of yours disintegrate it or something.” She tapped her lips thoughtfully. “And bring me that ridiculous piwafwi cloak of his. I could use a trophy of my own.”

A plan bubbled to the surface, and Maera nodded. “All right.”

Phaera stood, looking considerably more subdued, and said, “Speaking of your mage, I don’t suppose I could borrow him? I could use a little distraction tonight.”

Maera could not have thought of a less appealing idea. “You’ve already asked one favor.”

Phaere sighed. Maera couldn't tell if the contrition on her face was real or feigned. “True. Maybe later?”

“Get some rest, Phaere," Maera said. "I’ll let you know when I’ve handled it.” Phaere departed, and Maera dressed quickly and belted on her sword. She heard one of the other doors open behind her as she left the suite, but she did not stop. She would explain it to them later.

* * *

 

No one in the Male Fighters’ Society dared to ask any questions about why the newly popular female foreigner wanted to see Solaufein in the middle of the night. They had all lived long enough to learn the wisdom of discretion. Nor was Solaufein himself surprised to see her, whatever he surmised her intention to be.

“To what do I owe the honor, Veldrin?” he asked, calmly pulling on a shirt.

She felt no need for preamble. “Phaere sent me here to kill you.”

He looked neither shocked nor dismayed, but quietly lit another lamp and beckoned her to have a seat. “I was wondering how long it would take her. I didn’t think she would ask you, but it makes sense that she did.”

She remained standing. “I’m not going to, though.”

That got a flicker of reaction. “Why not?”

“I’m a lot of things, Solaufein, but I am not an assassin. Definitely not hers. And for some reason, I have the feeling this isn’t where you really want to be. Or what you want to be doing.”

His eyes fixed on her face, trying to divine the meaning from her words. “And you would spare me for that? Defy Phaere? For a feeling?”

“I have no loyalty to her.”

“Or to any other?” His gaze was measuring. “You are a very unusual female, Veldrin of Ched Nassad. You have a secret. I can tell.”

Damn. She’d gone too far, strayed too much from character. She said nothing, and he offered, “If you are unwilling or unable to tell me, I respect that. But if you aren’t…I could trade you. A secret of mine, for one of yours.” The silence in the room was almost overpowering, and to her astonishment, she realized she wanted to say yes. Why should she trust him? He was a drow. He had to be playing at something. The only word in his language for trust connoted its absence.

She nodded.

“You are right,” he said. “This is not what I wish to be doing. We have strayed, as a people. The Spider Queen is no longer sufficient to our needs. She is certainly not for mine. She has been replaced in my heart, by Lady Silverhair.”

Maera stared at him, taken utterly aback. “Lady Silver- You’re a follower of Eilistraee?”

His chin came up defiantly. “I am. Do you still wish to spare me?”

Well then. The conversation had certainly taken an interesting turn. She took the seat he had offered. “I believe I owe you a secret now.” She bit her lip, took a deep breath, and stared him square in the eye. “My name is not Veldrin, and I am not from Ched Nassad.”

“Who are you, then?”

And here came the real test. “I am Maera of Candlekeep. I’m a surfacer, a human. This face and body…they’re just an illusion.”

He leaned forward, that spark of undrow-like curiosity in his eyes again. “An extremely convincing illusion. How is it even possible?”

“What do you know about dragon eggs?” she volleyed back.

He straightened, and an expression of intrigued amusement crossed his dark face. “So the Guardian has moved after all. Ardulace and Phaere were so sure she wouldn’t risk it. Fascinating.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “As it turns out, I know quite a bit about dragon eggs. You learn a great deal when you keep your ears open and your mouth shut. The eggs were not simply stolen to prevent the Guardian's interference. They are an offering. Matron Mother Ardulace plans to summon up a demon lord and offer them in return for his aid in our attack against the surface elves.”

Maera sucked in a breath, appalled. “A demon lord? Loose on the surface? No one would stand a chance.”

“No commoner of the Abyss for the Mother of Despana, certainly. But,” he continued, holding up a finger, “I also know the plots don’t end there. Phaere, like the good daughter she is, is planning to betray her mother.”

“Shocking.”

“Is it not?” He shot her a sardonic smile. “She has had exact copies of the eggs crafted in secret. No doubt her intent is to exchange them, thus causing Matron Ardulace to inadvertently make a false offering.”

Maera nodded in understanding. “The demon kills the Matron for the affront, and Phaere produces the real thing, taking control of her House and positioning herself as the sole architect of a major victory for Ust Natha.”

“Very good. No wonder you’ve been able to play a drow so convincingly.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not,” she rejoined dryly.

“Please, take it as one. That’s how it was meant.” His eyes lingered on her. “At any rate, Phaere should have paid her artificer better, because he was only too glad to extend me the same service.” He got up, and rummaged around in the base of the corner wardrobe, producing a small bag – obviously enchanted, as he was able to sink his arm into it up to the elbow. He withdrew an oblong object roughly the size of his head, a shimmering, silvery egg that seemed to glow faintly in the lamplight. “Amazing that such massive creatures come from such minute beginnings.”

Maera got up to examine the false egg more closely. “You were planning to swap the eggs yourself. A double cross of the double cross.” He nodded. “How do you people keep all this straight?”

Solaufein chuckled. “If you can’t, you don’t live to see adulthood.” He slipped the egg back into the bag. “Since I’m to be ‘dead’ soon however, I won’t be able to carry out my original plan. I’m afraid I’ll have to be very ungracious, and ask a favor in return for you saving my life.”

She took the bag from him. “I think I know what that favor is, and actually, I’m more than happy to, Solaufein. This is just the chance I’ve been waiting for.”

“Then I count myself fortunate to die at your hand, Vel- …Maera,” he said. Their eyes met, and it occurred to her that they were standing very close to each other. His hand rested gently on her forearm. His head tilted slightly, his liquid red eyes warm with some expression she couldn't quite place. The light seemed to shift, and for an instant, the red was replaced by hazel, green ringed with brown. Cursing herself in every manner she could think of, she took a swift step back, guilt and embarrassment stabbing her in the gut. Solaufein dropped his head, a dark flush coloring his cheeks. “It would appear I’ve misjudged,” he mumbled.

Her own face was burning. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, eyes still downcast. “Don’t apologize. I should not have presumed.” He glanced at her diffidently. “There’s a claim on your heart,” he said softly. “Someone already in your affections.”

She bobbed her head in self-conscious confirmation. “I hope I’m still in his.”

“He’d be a fool otherwise.” He shook himself and made great show of changing the subject. “May I ask how you were intending to murder me?”

“I trust you know how to get out of town quickly and quietly. I thought I’d leave that to you. All Phaere wants as proof is your cloak. You should probably bleed on it some first, just to be convincing.”

“The piwafwi?” He lifted the cloak from its hook on the wall. “Of course she would.”

“Sentimental token?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“You can’t hate a stranger as much as you two hate each other.”

He laughed bitterly, balling the fabric in his hands. “She was very different once. Witty, headstrong, warm. Rather like you, actually. Maybe that’s why I…” He sighed. “But Matron Ardulace felt she was too attached, too emotional, and rather than simply killing her, gave her to the Handmaidens to learn the error of her ways. What they must have done to her-" He swallowed suddenly, gazing at the floor, and Maera's heart ached with sympathy. "She was so vibrant. So passionate. Now she's a monster.” His sword, mail, and other gear stood neatly stacked in their place near the door; he drew a dagger and incised a long, deep cut along his palm. He smeared the blood on the interior of the cloak, and handed to her. “I hope that will suffice.”

“I think it will.”

He began pulling on his mail. “I don’t know that we’ll ever meet again. Perhaps someday I’ll find myself to the surface, and be able to see your true face.”

“It’s not much like this one,” she said, smiling a bit weakly.

He shrugged, and inclined his head in a small bow. “Thank you, Maera. For your aid, and your mercy, and your understanding.”

“Thank _you_ for confounding my expectations.”

A thoughtful, distant smile crossed his lips. “He is a very fortunate man indeed.”

She could think of nothing to say to that. She ducked her head by way of farewell, and returned to the inn.

* * *

 

Kelsey was awake in the suite sitting room, tapping his pen aimlessly on his notebook when she returned. He started when he noticed the bloodstained cloak draped across her arm. “That’s Solaufein’s, isn’t it? Maera, did you-”

“No, but it’s good enough to fool you, it’ll fool Phaere.” Her shoulders slumped. “Everyone’s so willing to believe the worst of me lately. First Imoen and the gnomes, now this.”

“You haven’t been yourself,” he said apologetically.

“I’m _not_ myself!” she shot back, pointing to her face. She heaved a heavy sigh. “Look, after I take this to Phaere, we’ll need to have a conference. Solaufein gave me a lot of information; we’re going to be able to get out of here very soon, I think.”

“He did, huh? Good for him.” There was an implication in his tone that cut deep.

“Kelsey…it’s not-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he muttered, heading for his room and firmly closing the door.

She wanted to hit something. Anything. Hard. And she couldn’t even take it out on Phaere now, she thought as she stalked through the sleeping streets of Ust Natha, not after what Solaufein had told her. What kind of sick minds thought it right to punish love with torture? To reward treachery above honesty? To advance cruelty over trust? Suddenly she hated the Underdark so fiercely tears of pure rage blurred her sight. There was nothing there but rock and dirt, no scent but sickly fungus and stale, chilly air. No sky, no wind, no sun. No time. It was only night here by consensus – who knew if the sky above actually dark? Who knew how many sunrises had passed while they’d been down here, dancing to the dragon’s tune, playing the drow’s game?

Irenicus. This was his doing, forcing her into this terrestrial hell. He had to pay, and not just for this. For Khalid and Dynaheir. For Yoshimo. For taking Imoen from her and unleashing the Slayer, leaving them to die while he and Bodhi traipsed off to sow untold destruction for an unknown purpose.

That thought stopped her short, and sanity slapped her fury in the face. The drow were attacking the surface en masse, for the first time in generations. Now they intended to up the ante by unleashing a demon lord, and Irenicus had somehow directed it. She could see her missing pieces. Even if she did not have them all yet, a clearer picture had emerged. Whatever power he had gained from taking her soul, he was using it to hurt people. There were innocents in his path, and she owed it to them to stand in his way. She placed her hard over her heart; she could just barely feel the outline of her pendant beneath. Gorion had raised her for better than this. She composed herself, and knocked at Phaere’s door.

Phaere took the cloak from her silently, staring at the bloodstains. Her features were blank, but her eyes burned with a jumble of emotions Maera couldn’t begin to name. “Love is foolish,” she whispered to herself, as if reciting a mantra. “Love is a trick of the mind.” Her eyelids flickered and she seemed to come back to herself. “Thank you, Veldrin, and well done. We need no longer be troubled by him.” She tossed the rumpled cloak unceremoniously into a corner. “Have a seat. I have a proposition for you.”

“What is that?” Maera asked, sitting carefully in an overstuffed chair.

“You’ve already proven yourself competent and direct,” Phaere said, seating herself. “And now, you’ve shown me that you are discreet. My offer will require you to be bold and willing to gamble. But if we succeed, we will achieve the sort of greatness that only comes along once in a dozen generations!” Warming to her subject, she continued. “It may surprise you to learn that our offensive on the surface was actually inspired by a surfacer. He’s a strange one, but he provided us with the impetus. From there, it has been nothing to destroy the elves above. They’re every bit as weak as you’d imagine. But you already know of this. It’s the next step you will be most interested in. You are familiar with the Guardian?” Maera nodded and Phaere outlined the plan very much as Solaufein had – the stolen eggs as a sacrifice to the demon lord, her copies and the plotted exchange. “My mother has done an adequate job as leader of our House,” she shrugged, “but some opportunities are simply too good to let them pass you by.”

“Opportunity is restless,” Maera murmured. Alaundo’s proverbs really did apply no matter where you were.

“Exactly! We think alike, you and I. That’s why I’m presenting this to you now, because I believe we can accomplish something great together. I take control of House Despana, and you will be my right hand. Whatever chance you had for advancement in Ched Nassad, I can promise you ten times more glory here. With the demon’s aid, we will crush the surfacers, and none in the Underdark will be able to ignore us. With cunning and guile, who knows how far we could ride this current?” Her eyes shone with triumph.

“So you want me to arrange for switching the eggs, I presume?”

“Yes. The summoning in is two days. I want you there to witness it.”

Maera chewed her lip, wheels spinning. This was lining up so perfectly she was starting to wonder where exactly the kink in the plan would present itself, because there had to be one. That was just how her luck worked. On the other hand, the plots and counterplots of the drow were practically doing the dirty work for her. She rose, and bowed. “When you see me again, the exchange will have been made. And our plans can move forward.”

Phaere’s only response was a smile of dark delight.

* * *

 

Two bags of false dragon eggs sat on the table. “I’m gonna need a flow chart to keep this straight,” Imoen said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “So the real eggs are being kept at the Temple. We switch them for Phaere’s fakes, give her Solaufein’s fakes, and keep the real ones for ourselves. Right?” Maera nodded. “Okay, why not just swipe Adalon’s eggs and make a break for it? Why mess with the fancy switcharoo?”

“Because we need the summoning to happen. If we disappear with the eggs now, they’re not going to stop their attacks on the surface. But if Ardulace and Phaere try to summon the demon and fail, it throws the whole thing into disarray. House Despana will have taken a major hit, and the other Houses will be too busy fighting it out among themselves in the aftermath to continue their raids.”

Imoen did not look entirely convinced, but nodded anyway. “It’s not a bad plan, I guess.”

Maera leaned back in her chair, eyes downcast. “I hate it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m knowingly setting them up to die,” she said.

“They’d do the same to us,” countered Imoen.

“And for far more flimsy reasons,” Jaheira added.

“I know.” Maera looked up. “Im, do you think you can do the switch?”

“'No' wouldn’t be a good answer even if it was true, would it?” Imoen smiled grimly. “Get me in and I can do it.”

“All right. Phaere wants me at the summoning, and I want the four of you to be ready to vanish without a trace the second the demon’s dealt with. Even if that means leaving without me.”

“No!” Kelsey and Imoen exclaimed simultaneously. They stole surreptitious glances at each other as Maera stared them down.

“Look, I don’t like it either, but we have to be prepared for anything. I don’t know what’s going to happen when the demon is summoned, or how it will react to the false offering, so we had better be ready. That way, if this plan doesn’t fall to shreds, we can all be pleasantly surprised.”

* * *

 

Adalon’s eggs were being kept in a disused corner of Ust Natha’s great temple to Lolth. A pair of Despana soldiers stood a covert guard on a platform outside the hallway leading to the egg chamber – the House’s triumph rested on secrecy, and they could not be too open. But the guards were all too eager to let Maera distract them. After all, everyone knew Veldrin was Phaere’s new favorite, and who knew what influence could be gained from being in her good graces? Imoen slipped past them, opening and closing the door behind herself so swiftly and quietly they were sure the movement was just a figment of their imaginations. The substitution made, she made for the door again and was about to open it when she heard a new voice.

“Phaere has spoken of little else. You’ve quite impressed her.” It was a female voice, of mature years, a voice accustomed to command. Could it be-?

“I’m honored to be of service, Matron Mother.” And that was Maera. Curses echoed in Imoen’s mind.

“You were hoping to see them, weren’t you?’

“'Them’, Matron?”

“There’s no need to be coy, girl. You’ve come to see the eggs.”

There was silence, then Maera’s abashed reply. “Well, I haven’t ever seen a dragon’s eggs before. They’re quite a prize.”

The Matron’s voice had a measuring quality to it. “You are demure now, but you take great refuge in audacity, don’t you, Veldrin? I see it in your face.”

“It’s served me well in the past.”

“And it may serve you well yet. Very well. Come with me. I will show them to you.”

Imoen winced. She’d hoped to avoid this, but it couldn’t be helped. She whispered the words of her invisibility spell and positioned herself behind the door. When it opened and Maera and the Matron came through, she would have a very small window to get past them. The door swung open, and Imoen slithered between it and Maera, clasping her sister’s arm for an instant, and making all speed back to the inn to wait for the second half of the operation.

Maera felt the unseen touch on her arm and knew Imoen had been successful. She glanced at the Matron Mother. Ardulace was tall for a drow, and the resemblance between her and her favored daughter was striking. But the Matron had the benefit of years and experience; where the young might seek to compensate with hot tempers and bold behavior, she knew the value of calm. She had nothing to prove. Like an alpha wolf, she knew a simple snarl could bring the pack in line.

“Did you imagine, Veldrin, when you came to us, the enormity of what you had become a part of?”

“I’ve long since stopped wasting time on being surprised by the plans around me, Matron.” Honesty had not come so easily in weeks.

Ardulace unlocked the door to the egg chamber with a flourish. Maera held her breath – if the Matron noticed something amiss, the whole thing would fall apart around their ears. The drow caressed the counterfeit eggs, and rolled one over, flicking off a speck of something with a forefinger. She repeated the action with another, and buffed the shell of a third with her sleeve. She smiled. “They are lovely, are they not? I think our new ally will be pleased with them.”

The weight lifted from Maera’s chest. “Oh, I think so, Matron.”

* * *

 

The worst kind of waiting is the sort that must be done before something is to be accomplished quickly. They were all summoned to the Temple, and Maera had to leave her companions in an antechamber before following Phaere to the sanctum for the main event. Phaere patted the pocket of her ceremonial robe with a conspiratorial smile; no doubt it contained the enchanted bag filled with dragon eggs no more real than the ones her mother now held. Maera felt her bile rise. She wished she were in a position to apply Minsc’s stance on deception. Punching evil was a lot more direct and therapeutic than all the backstabbing, both literal and figurative.

As mother and daughter began the ritual, she thanked Oghma that their manic desire for secrecy meant they were conducting the summoning alone. They were so determined to make a showy gesture of having a demon lord under their control, they had sown their own undoing. Maera just wanted the whole mess to be over. Their chanting was making her flesh creep and the musky incense was giving her a headache.

Ardulace’s voice reached a triumphant crescendo, and she nicked her thumb, marking each of the eggs with a print of blood before placing them in the center of the summoning circle. The air cracked with energy, and swirling, shadowy doors appeared in its heart, doors which slowly swung open. A dark, hulking form hunched on the threshold, smoke coiling about it. The scent of brimstone overwhelmed the incense.

**You have called me.**

“Behold, my lord,” Ardulace exalted, “a humble offering we present in return for alliance with your great and fearsome self. We seek the ruin of our foes - lend us your aid!”

**These? This is no offering, darkling. Are you grown so proud you would mock me for your amusement?**

The Matron’s voice faltered. “I – I do not know what you mean, my lord. These are the eggs of a silver dragon, presented in good faith -”

The demon’s glowing eyes narrowed. **Foolish darkling. Mortal hands created these false things. You have wasted my time.** Smoke billowed from the circle, closing in around the Matron like a vise of shadow **. You will die now.**

Ardulace’s scream was cut short as the smoke thickened for an instant and just as suddenly dissipated. She was gone, leaving nothing behind but her robes. Phaere’s eyes were huge with awe and horror. An ambitious glitter lit them, and she stepped forward.

“The true eggs are here, my lord!” she exclaimed. “I, Phaere of House Despana, hold your offering!”

A sick, burbling rattle, like the last breaths of a dying man, rippled from the circle. A chill crept up Maera’s neck at the sound. The demon was laughing. **The arrogant drow! So quick to betray! How delightful. Know this, darkling daughter. Your plots are for nothing. You have been crossed, just as you crossed your mother. The Bhaalchild has killed you.**

Phaere’s dark face was so bloodless her skin almost glowed. “W-who?”

The demon lazily turned to Maera, its initial anger now dissolved to cruel amusement. **Tell her, Bhaalchild.**

Maera closed her eyes. The demon’s game was making her nauseous. “I have the real ones. Solaufein had another set of copies made. Those are the ones you have.”

Rage and shock brought color back to Phaere’s face. “You betrayed me?” she hissed. “After everything I have given you? How could you do this, Veldrin? How could you possibly gain from turning on me?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Maera said tiredly. “I’m sorry, Phaere. For everything they did to you.”

Undiluted fury twisted the drow’s lovely features, her fear forgotten. “I don’t need your pity, foreigner!”

 **Soon you will need nothing at all,** the demon cooed. The smoke rolled forth again, and Phaere, too, vanished, her scream of rage left to echo unfinished. The demon lord chuckled. **You are proving a credit to your sire’s name, Bhaalchild.**

“You don’t know me very well.” She scrubbed her face with her hands. Despite wearing it this long, it still didn’t feel right. “Go back to the Abyss. Nobody wants you here.”

Four heads came up as she entered the antechamber. “It’s over,” she said shortly. “We’re going.” And the five foreigners vanished from Ust Natha, and were never heard from again.

* * *

 

Adalon nudged her eggs with her long nose, murmuring draconic endearments to them as she positioned them just so in her nest. Maera felt her spirits lift; maybe it had been worth it after all, to reunite a mother with her children. It would feel more worthwhile, however, to see the sun again. The dragon seemed to understand, and raised her head to face them.

“There is no need for disguise any longer,” she said. And again, the dizzying shift in perception, the strange alteration of features, but this time the end result felt right. Maera raked familiar, scarred fingers through her appropriately blonde hair. Yes, this felt better already. “And now the rest. Dragons do not renege on bargains, after all.” Adalon’s own form changed and she stood before them in her human shape. “I will lead you to the exit taken by your quarry. From there, you may follow him as you will.”

The dragon was an unerring guide, conducting them through the tunnels with precision until they reached the ruins of a drow outpost. “They call this place The Stair. This was their first home below, before they built Ust Natha. Go forward. The tunnel slopes upward and you will find yourselves at the cave mouth in approximately a quarter mile.” She bent her head gracefully. “I thank you, and bid you good fortune.”

It was nearly twilight when they emerged from the darkness, but that was just as well, because even the dark gold-rose light of the setting sun was far brighter than their eyes could bear. So to a one, they closed them, and drank in the songs of the evening birds, the rustle of the wind in the tree branches, and the scent of the cool, damp earth. It was also why they did not notice the elves.

 


	16. A Penitent Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Amazing what the daylight could do._

Elhan of Suldanessellar, general of the armies of the Heartwoods, ducked into his tent to gather his thoughts. He was satisfied that they were not spies, at least. The denials on that point had be vehement, profuse, and, in the case of the blonde one, a bit vulgar. No, they were not agents of the drow, of that he was convinced. But they were not just adventurers who had taken a wrong turn in a dark cave and wandered too deep, either. They had been down there for a reason. According to their belligerent leader, they had put a stop to a drow plot that would have spelled the utter destruction of the elves’ defenses. She had said their ultimate goal was finding Jon Irenicus, and his blood had chilled at her words. What had he done, that human adventurers were following him through the black of the Underdark, after his heart? How far was the Exile willing to press his vengeance? Was there anything he _wasn’t_ prepared to do destroy them all?

He sat heavily at his camp desk. There was something about the group that unnerved him. The woman who spoke for them knew far more about the Exile than an outsider should (the knowledge that the drow had been a breath away from summoning a demon at _his_ behest had almost made Elhan’s heart stop), and the questions she asked were even worse. And there was something in her dark eyes – a disturbing mix of bitter self-recrimination and incandescent rage that set his nerves to jangling. She was young, even for a human. He knew he was two centuries her senior at the very least. But her eyes looked old, and they unsettled him.

But he knew that even an uncomfortable opportunity was better than none. Despite the young human’s disquieting eyes, after the reverses and dismal news of the past tenday, the fortuitous appearance of her party might be just the break he and his exhausted, overextended forces had so desperately needed. If she truly wanted Irenicus, surely she would see the wisdom in working with him.

His attaché scratched at the tent flap as a courtesy before entering. “General,” he asked, “If they are not our prisoners, what shall we do with the adventurers? It’s getting late, and if we’re going to assign a watch to them, I need to know.”

“No,” Elhan said. “No watch. I think we can trust them that far at least, they obviously have no love for the drow. But more than that, I think we can use them. They may be the solution to our most pressing problem.”

Elhan stepped back out of his tent, and Maera looked up at him from her cushion on the ground. The elves were edgy and distrustful, but they were still good hosts. “So where do we go from here, General?” she asked.

“We help each other.”

“Ah. The old tit-for-tat, back scratching routine. I never get tired of it.”

“There’s no need to be flippant,” he responded. “You say you want the Exile. So do I. But neither of us can have him now.”

“You keep calling him that. Why?”

“That is not something I feel it necessary to discuss with an outsider.”

“You could always try climbing down off your high horse and see how that works for you. Or maybe just pulling the stick-”

“Maera!” Jaheira admonished. “For the last time! Show some respect.”

Maera inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, willing herself calm. The elves had descended on them seconds after they exited the cave, brusque, mistrustful, and armed to the teeth. In her heart, she couldn’t blame them. That hole had been coughing up their worst nightmare; of course they would imagine the worst of anyone who emerged from it. But their suspicions irritated her, rubbing at her nerves like sandpaper. What did she have to do to convince them she bore them no ill will? She didn’t give a damn about their little spat with the drow in the first place, growled the angry little voice of honesty in the back of her mind. If the elves knew anything of use, they could tell her and let her go. Being forced to play houseguest felt like a waste of time. “My apologies, General,” she said stiffly. “What do you propose?”

“We are cut off here. We cannot return to Suldanessellar, because he has hidden it from us.”

“Hidden? How do you hide an entire city?” Imoen asked.

Elhan shrugged, the gesture of a man for whom the specifics were unimportant. “Some manner of illusion. An incredibly powerful one. It is as though the city has vanished from the face of Toril. Our scouts have returned reporting nothing but empty forest. Which means he has Suldanessellar, and all its people, at his mercy now, and we can do nothing.” His face hardened with the last word and Maera felt a quick pang of sympathy. For one accustomed to action, there was no feeling worse than helplessness, and she found her temper softening. “There is still one way to return, but he was prepared for that as well. The Rhynn Lanthorn is the most sacred relic of our patron Rillifane, the Leaf Lord. It is bound to his temple, and no magic, mortal, divine, or diabolic, can prevent it from lighting the way back to its home.”

A flash of understanding lit Maera’s mind. “Phaere said they defiled a temple. He took it, to ensure the illusion. If someone in the city were able to sneak it out, they could get reinforcements.”

“So if he wanted to be sure it couldn’t fall back into the elves’ hands…” Jaheira mused.

“Boo says he would give it to Bodhi,” Minsc interjected decisively.

“Boo is right,” Imoen replied, thoughtful. “And if Bodhi has it…”

“She’s gone back to Athkatla,” Kelsey said. “She already has a base of operations there, and the elves can’t follow her. There’s no way they could march into Amn without provoking an incident.”

They all looked up at Elhan. “And you want us to retrieve it for you,” Maera said. The General nodded. “I see. We do this and we’ll get a crack at Irenicus?”

“Most assuredly. We will need all the help we can get, once we can get back into the city.”

“Then I guess we have ourselves a deal.” Elhan bowed, and was about to speak when she asked, “One question, though, General, and I promise I’ll hold my temper this time. What did he do to your people? Why do you call him the Exile?”

“I’m afraid you must earn that knowledge.” He bowed again; the interview was clearly over. “Accommodation will be provided for you; crude, but better than the ground. In the morning, you may approach my quartermaster and we will re-supply you as best we can. Thank you, and good night.”

* * *

 

They retired to a cluster of rough huts that skirted the edge of a small lake down the slope from Elhan’s headquarters. Kelsey saw Maera sitting on a rock, her bare feet kicking idly at the water, her face turned upwards towards the stars. “I missed the stars, down there,” she said as he approached.

“I know I have a new appreciation for fresh air,” he replied. “And I much prefer seeing your face, instead of Veldrin’s.”

“I think I was a little too good at being Veldrin,” she said. “I’m glad I’m not anymore.”

“Now that you aren’t, may a humble male speak to you again?” The jest fell flat, and they both stared into the water. A silent moment passed before she spoke, still looking up at the sky.

“I owe you an apology, Kelsey. I haven’t been fair to you. Or anyone, for that matter. I feel…I feel like I’m flying apart at the seams. Like something’s trying to push its way out of me. I hear it in my head, I see it in my dreams, I... It got in once, and now it’s lurking at the windows, waiting for me slip up, and let it back in. I feel like I’m putting you all in danger. Especially you.” She laced her fingers together tightly, and said, voice faltering, “Considering that…I would completely understand if you decided that what’s happened between us in the past should stay there.”

Kelsey watched her anguished profile. He wished she would look at him. “I wouldn’t want that.”

She mulled over that in silence, then asked, very softly, “Why?” Her head half-turned. “I tried to kill you, Kelsey.”

“No. The Slayer tried to kill me.”

“Don’t split hairs. That’s not how it works.” She stood stiffly, and turned away, rocking slightly as if she could not decide to start walking or not.

Kelsey faced her tense back, feeling oddly belligerent. Too many opportunities had already passed him by since Spellhold, too many silences, too much aversion. He had not planned on them having the matter out right at that moment, but there they were, so why not? “Explain it to me then. I’ve got all night.”

She swung back towards him, eyes slitted. He recognized that look, but he’d never been on the receiving end of it before. “Explain it? Really? Which part would you like me to explain first: the part about having the overwhelming desire to _rip you in half_ , or the part where I did my damnedest to make it happen?” Kelsey gritted his teeth and forced himself to stare back. He would not give her any ground. He couldn’t. “And don’t try to smooth it over and tell me that it’s not my fault,” she said, her voice rising in frustration. “Irenicus may have taken my soul, but he didn’t didn’t put the Slayer in me. It was always there. It has always been a part of me. So what if there’s no going back to the way I was? What if this is the way I have to live the rest of my life? And what if sooner or later, even the little bit of control I still have disappears? Then what? What happens then, Kelsey?!” She cut herself off, rubbing her face. “And why am I yelling at you?”

“I’d rather you yell at me than ignore me,” he retorted.

She tried for a chuckle, but it hovered somewhere tears and derision. “Gods, are your priorities screwed up.”

“I think we’re all pretty screwed up right now.” He folded his arms, neck tense, mouth set tight, and he realized he was angry with her. Normally, his first instinct would be to conciliate, but the anger made him reckless, and he let it carry him. He pushed again. “What are you so afraid of, Maera?”

She did laugh that time, but it wasn’t a very pleasant sound. “I’m sorry, were you not there a minute ago? _I tried to kill you_. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a mistake. I wanted you dead. How am I supposed to feel about that, Kelsey?”

He remembered the cold light in the Slayer’s eyes. He had been nothing but a victim in those eyes, not a person, just a thing to be cut down, blood to be shed. But those had not been Maera’s eyes, and he had to make her realize that. “Do you want to kill me now?” he shot back. She started, caught off guard by the question.

“What?”

“Do you want to kill me?” he repeated. “Right here, right now.”

“Keep this up and I might,” she grumbled crossly.

“Very funny. Please answer the question.”

“Kelsey, I…” She sighed, a heavy, defeated sound. “No. No, of course not.” She looked down, her brow furrowed sadly.

“That’s why I’m not afraid of you,” he said. She continued to stare at the ground. “Maybe the Slayer’s always been there, but so have you.” He chanced stepping closer to her. Close enough to touch, but he wasn’t going to press his luck. “That night in Brynnlaw, you said we’d come into each other’s lives at just the right time. I still believe that. I can’t speak for you, but I know that what I feel for you…it’s real, and it’s not going anywhere. And neither am I.”

She looked at him, parted her lips as if to speak, then simply shook her head. “You know what I said before about you being normal? I take it back. You’re crazy.” She smiled at him. It was weak, and a little sad, but it was still the most beautiful thing he had seen in weeks. “What kind of lunatic _doesn’t_ run away screaming when they’ve seen what you have?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I still don’t hear talking hamsters, though.” Her smile deepened by a degree, and finally, it touched her eyes. His spirits soared.

"Maybe you need a weasel," she suggested quietly.

"Maybe I do."

She glanced down again, her lips still faintly curved. Instinct told him to touch her, but reason kept his hands at his sides. That smile would have to be victory enough for one night. “I’m gonna go to bed, okay?” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She nodded, still not looking at him. “Good night.” He ducked his head to catch her eye.

“I’m not giving up on you, Maera,” he murmured. Vague surprise crossed her face, followed by an expression that looked almost like gratitude. He smiled at her and turned for his hut, taking advantage of his resolve while it lasted. He had to leave this in her hands, he told himself firmly. He could take her hand at the cliff’s edge, but she was the only one who could choose to reach back.

* * *

 

The first thing Jaheira saw when she exited her hut the next morning was a pair of familiar figures, one quite large and the other equally small, lying in the grass a few paces away. She marched towards Imoen and Minsc, prepared to employ her full anti-stupidity arsenal if necessary. Hands set firmly on her hips, she stared them down. “And what do you two think you are doing? Imoen, are you all right?”

Imoen beamed up at her somewhat blearily. “Oh, I’m fine, Jaheira. I don’t even have a headache!”

“We are looking at the sun,” Minsc supplied helpfully.

That was not quite the answer Jaheira had expected. “Not directly, I hope?”

“Oh, no!” Minsc looked scandalized at the thought. “When it gets too bright, we do this!” He covered his eyes with one hand, and placed the other over Imoen’s. It covered the majority of her face, and she giggled.

Jaheira shook her head with a small, eye-rolling smile. They were like children together, they always had been, and she knew she should probably scold them for wasting precious preparation time. But it was so good to see them back in their natural element she just couldn’t bring herself to. And Imoen, so pale after weeks of sunless confinement, was smiling again. Seeing the pair of them together felt almost like normalcy. Sanity, even, as odd as that sounded.

Kelsey walked by, absently adjusting the straps on his pack. He glanced down at the horizontal pair as he passed. “Should I ask?”

“It would be unwise,” Jaheira said.

“Okay.” He kept walking.

"I assume you are prepared to depart shortly?" Jaheira held out a hand to help Imoen up.

“Of course,” Imoen said tartly. “We’ve been ready for hours. Haven’t we, Minsc?”

“Boo and I packed all night!” The big ranger clambered to his feet, brushing bits of damp grass off his armor.

That left only Maera unaccounted for, and she emerged from her own hut a few moments later, looking withdrawn but resolute. She flashed a quick, muted smile at Kelsey as she passed to take her place at the head of the line, and he could not disguise the unalloyed hope in his eyes as she did. _By Silvanus_ , Jaheira thought, _I would not be so young again for the world_. But she found that she too felt strangely hopeful. Amazing what the daylight could do.

* * *

 

They kept a hard pace back to Athkatla, but they were all so enjoying the novelty of being under the sky once more that it did not seem as bad as it could have. They followed the forest roads north, and within a day or so, the trees thinned and gave way to rolling Amnish farmland. Maera had no idea how many days behind Bodhi they were, but they could not afford her the luxury of time to re-establish herself. Speed of was the essence, and they knew they would need help. Fortunately, there was someone in Athkatla they could count on to take Bodhi’s return just as personally as they did.

But if Aran Linvail was surprised to see them again, it didn’t show. He had not gotten to his current echelon in the underworld by being easy to shock. He bowed in elegant fashion over Imoen’s hand when they were ushered into his chamber. “And you would be the famous, long-sought Imoen,” he smiled. “None the worse for your captivity, I hope?”

“Well, Irenicus and Bodhi did steal mine and Maera’s souls, but other than that, I’m pretty good. Thanks for asking.”

The unflappable veneer cracked ever so slightly. “Souls?”

Imoen nodded as if making teatime conversation. “Yeah, they had some kind of ritual that killed six people and sucked our souls out through our noses. At least, I hope it was our noses…”

“Maera!” Sime entered, looking both reproachful and delighted. Linvail, for his part, simply looked relieved, the conversation having gone to a place he had not anticipated. “What happened to you? You were gone three days, then Havarian shows back up at the Monkey looking like a kicked puppy, mutters something about the Underdark, and the next thing I know, I’m on my way back here.”

Maera extended her hand to clasp the other woman’s forearm. “Sorry about that, Sime. There wasn’t really any time for detail. But it would seem the good captain actually did as he was told, which is a relief.”

“Oh, he was very attentive the entire trip back,” Sime said. “What did you do to him?”

“I scared him.”

Sime snickered darkly and seated herself on the edge of Linvail’s desk as the Shadowmaster sat down behind it. “Since you are back, I suppose this means I’ll have to cancel the contract I had out on him,” he said with a sigh. “Shame. I was looking forward to receiving his head with little bows tied in the hair.”

“Aran, he was in your employ, and he crossed you. What happens to Saemon Havarian is between you and your occasional conscience,” Maera replied.

“This is very true.” His lips quirked wickedly. “Bows it is, then.”

“As exciting as a conversation about Havarian is bound to be, you know I’m not here to talk about ship’s captains with highly negotiable loyalties,” Maera said. “Bodhi’s back.”

Linvail’s smile became pained. “So it is her. I’d been getting reports the past few nights - thieves not reporting back, figures in the shadows that weren’t us, that sort of thing. I was hoping against hope that it wasn’t her, but obviously I should have been more pessimistic. When will I learn?” He cast Sime a rueful glance, and she patted his shoulder with mock sympathy. “So why has she returned? What’s her game?”

Maera outlined what they knew thus far, from Irenicus and Bodhi’s own admission in Spellhold, from Phaere and Ardulace, and from Elhan, and he shook his head grimly. “Drow on the surface, hidden cities, stolen relics? My gods. And she and the mage more closely connected than I ever imagined.” Linvail tapped a forefinger on his desk. His face was calm, but Maera could see the whirr of activity behind his eyes as he recategorized all things Bodhi-related into new mental files. “This is far deeper just a guild war.”

“Aran, I’m afraid your guild war meant nothing to her,” Maera said. “She had no real desire to overthrow you and run Athkatla’s streets. It was a game to her, something to keep her amused while she stockpiled for her brother.”

The Shadowmaster’s eyes went cold. “We’re just parts to them, aren’t we?”

Maera nodded, unable to keep a small, slightly vengeful smile from her face. She had known Linvail would understand. “That’s what they seem to think.”

“I think I disagree,” Linvail said. “She has to be put down. Permanently. And that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Maera nodded again. “I think we can make arrangements to that end. It's high time someone disabused our bloodsucking friend of her superiority complex. Come back tomorrow and we’ll talk business.” They stood and turned to depart when he said, “By the way… Maera? It’s good to see you again. I was worried.

* * *

 

Being back in Athkatla meant Maera could finally do something she had unfortunately had to put off for longer than she had wanted. After seeing them all ensconced for the evening at the Five Flagons Inn, she came down the stairs into the common room, a small oilcloth bundle in hand, and was halfway to the door when she heard Kelsey’s voice.

“I _knew_ you were bluffing!”

She stopped, and stared, as her world executed a perfect half gainer and landed gracefully on its ear.

Jaheira and Kelsey sat opposite one another at a little card table near the wall, playing cards and a small pile of copper coins between them, which Jaheira began scooping towards her side. “It is your deal,” she said. Kelsey sighed and gathered up the cards. Jaheira glanced up and spotted Maera. “Ah, there she is. Good evening, Maera.”

Maera blinked hard. “Are you…playing _cards_?”

“Poker, to be exact, yes.” The druid watched patiently as Kelsey shuffled.

“You’re playing poker.”

“Imoen is having another of her headaches; I gave her some tonic and sent her to lie down, and Minsc is keeping her company. _You_ were nowhere to be found, so Kelsey and I have sought our own entertainment.”

“So you’re playing poker.”

“As best we can between the two of us.” Jaheira calmly collected her cards and began ordering them in her hand. “He counts cards, by the way.”

“I do not,” Kelsey objected. “It’s basic math.” He glanced at Maera, and his eyes softened as he noted the oilcloth in her hands. She felt inexplicably embarrassed, as if she should have been more secretive. “Which shrine are you going to?” he asked quietly.

“The one of the roof of the Copper Coronet’s closest, isn’t it?” He nodded, and she did as well. “Then that one.”

He set down his cards, stood, and faced her. “I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, but I am.” She inhaled to protest, but his shoulders moved back resolutely. “I _am_.”

He was putting his foot down, she realized, blank with surprise. When had he started doing that? And what was that little smile on Jaheira’s face about? “Um…okay. Company might be nice after all.”

It was an hour or so before sunset, but the streets were already darkening. A low, complaining pall of clouds hung over the domed roofs of Athkatla, threatening rain with every gust of wind. Maera and Kelsey walked in silence from the Bridge into the slums. There didn’t seem to be much to say. They turned a corner, and the sprawling bulk of the Copper Coronet loomed before them, the torches on either side of its doors already lit against the approaching stormy night. Stairs near the main entrance led to the roof, and the shrine of Ilmater, a small, rickety lean-to of a building, tucked against one of the Coronet’s great chimneys, borrowing its warmth. The thin, shabby priest tending the fire looked up. “What may the Painbearer offer you, my children?”

“We’ve come to perform a penance,” Maera said quietly.

“For yourselves, child?”

“The penitent is already dead. He won’t be able to find peace without Ilmater’s intercession.”

The priest’s eyes flicked from the bag in her hands, to her tired face, and there was understanding in his kindly eyes. “That is his heart?” Maera nodded. “Then come. Pray for his peace and for your own. You will know when to cast the heart into the fire.”

He busied himself with some small task, allowing them relative privacy to kneel on either side of the brazier. Maera stared into the flames, and in his mind’s eye, she could see it all again – Yoshimo’s blood soaked side, his body limp in her arms, the tight sensation of dried blood on her face. He had asked her forgiveness, but it had already been given, the instant Daystar entered his body. Kelsey’s voice broke her reverie. “Maera,” he said softly, “you couldn’t have saved him.”

“I’ve killed a lot of people,” she whispered, “more than I care to think about. You’d think it wouldn’t bother me anymore.”

“Don’t you think it’s a good thing that it does?” They sat in silence for a moment longer before Kelsey spoke again. “You know, when we first met, I was a little jealous of him.”

Her brow furrowed. “Seriously? Jealous of Yoshimo? Why?”

He shrugged, as if acknowledging his foolishness. “I didn’t know where things stood with you two at first. I mean, it didn’t take long to figure it out, but even then…he flirted with you all the time. All that ‘fair friend’ business.”

“He _was_ very charming,” she replied, smiling gently, then looked at him sharply. “But he was not flirting.”

“Oh, yes he was. Maybe you didn’t notice, but he was.”

She stuck the tip of her tongue out at him. “And maybe you were seeing things that weren’t there. At least Yoshimo wasn’t out to get into my pants.” The priest coughed - it was most certainly not a choked laugh - and she blushed.

“I think he would have been more than happy to be there,” Kelsey replied. “Any guy with sense would be.” There was no heat to his words, just a smile, and she shook her head at him, giving her eyes a roll. It felt nice to banter with him again. But then he sobered, and the next words were soft, almost under his breath. “I was a little jealous of him when he died, too. He got to die in your arms. There are worse ways to go.”

The words struck like a blow to the chest, and for an instant, she couldn’t breath. She stared at him, stricken. “Kelsey, don’t say that.”

He shrugged again, looking intensely self-conscious. “He and I didn’t see eye to eye about most things. The merchant and the thief…natural enemies, I guess. We were never going to be friends. But you and he were, and I know that was important to you.”

She rolled with the subject change, even though the awful compression of her heart took a moment to ease. “We got along. Maybe it was because he had been there too, in Irenicus’s dungeon. He could understand, but he wasn’t so close that he was suffering under our losses, too. Of course, now I know he had planted there for us.” A flash of anger washed over her, sudden and hot. “Irenicus used him. Like a chess piece. A living, breathing human with a mind and a heart, and he placed him under a death sentence without a thought. Because it was convenient. I don’t know. Maybe I’m being too generous. Maybe I should have been more suspicious, but I do not believe he would have betrayed us if he hadn’t been under that compulsion!” An image flashed in her mind – Yoshimo with his hands pressed against the glass cage, anguish in his eyes. _Do you know what happens when you disobey a geas?_

“No,” she said, more softly. “He wouldn't have.”

“Then your trust wasn't misplaced,” Kelsey offered.

She nodded vigorously. “Exactly! It wasn't! And that’s why I have to do this for him! I don’t have so many friends I can afford to treat any of them poorly.” The second the words left her mouth, her anger was gone like a doused flame. There was the heart of it, and hearing herself say it aloud drove it home. “But I have. Oghma’s books, but I have.”

“Maera…”

She gently hefted the oilcloth bag, suddenly unable to look at him. “I’ve been so afraid of myself. Of what I might do. I’ve been so scared, I’ve pushed everyone away. I am such a coward.” Her head dropped, and she stared down at the wrapped heart in her hands. Maybe it knew something she didn’t.

“You know,” Kelsey said, breaking the lengthening silence diffidently, “I’ve heard that courage is the acceptance of fear. Apparently, a really wise man used to say that.”

Her throat tightened, and yet a laugh was trying to force its way through the lump. He really did astound her sometimes. Despite the fear and anger and uncertainty, he was still there, still somehow knew just the right thing to say. How did he do that, and how could she ever repay him for it? She looked up at him across the fire, wiping at her wet eyes with the heel of her hand. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” she asked softly.

The flush started at his ears, before spreading down his neck and across his face. “You didn’t _do_ anything. You’re just you.”

Her mouth twitched bitterly. “Yeah. Me. In all my dubious glory.”

“Yes, you.” He sounded almost frustrated. “You, the fighter. The hero.” His voice softened as their eyes met. “The woman who comforted a dying man, and promised him she would do everything in her power to ease his suffering. And here you are.”

She looked down at the bag again, and his words at the lakeshore came back to her. _Maybe the Slayer’s always been there, but so have you_. “Here I am,” she whispered. She lifted Yoshimo’s heart over the fire. “I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting, Yoshimo.”

Kelsey’s hands moved of their own accord, slipping beneath hers. It was strange, he thought, how small a human heart really was, when it mattered so much. Their eyes met across the flames and held for a moment, before she closed hers. “Ilmater, Painbearer, Crying Lord, hear me,” she prayed. “Hear the supplication of the wounded. Our friend died a traitor’s death, but he was betrayed himself. Ease his suffering, I beg. Free him to his rest.” As she spoke, the air seemed strangely light. She was good at praying; Kelsey supposed it went with the divine territory. “Be with him, and with all who suffer, great Ilmater. Be with us. Be with Imoen. Be with me.” They lowered the heart into the fire, and Maera sagged suddenly as the flames flared, as though exhausted.

“Are you okay?” Kelsey asked, helping her to her feet. She nodded, and placed a handful of gold coins in the surprised priest’s hand with a faint smile of thanks. She was quiet and distracted as they crossed the roof and carefully negotiated the rickety stairs down to the street, thoughtful contemplation writ large across her face. When their feet were safely back on the cobblestones, she turned and looked at him for a moment, her eyes strangely hesitant as words formed on her lips. But she said nothing. Kelsey cocked his head slightly. “Um...Maera? Is something wrong?”

“You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“I have?”

“Yeah.” She bit her lip. “Like what you said about dying in my arms.”

He glanced down at his boots. “Well…that was overly dramatic. I shouldn't have said that.”

Her own boots came into his field of vision, and he realized she had stepped very close to him. He looked up, meeting her eyes. Something was burning in them, behind the shyness, something that made his breath catch and his heart pound. “Maybe it was a little. But it made me think. About you and me. About how fragile this all is. If either of us died tomorrow, what would we have to show for it?” She took his hand carefully, as if afraid he might disappear, pressing their palms together and lacing her fingers with his. “You said you’re not afraid of me, and if you aren’t, then I guess I shouldn’t be either.”

He swallowed hard and shook his head tightly. “No, you shouldn't.”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen, Kelsey. I just know I can’t take anything for granted anymore. Definitely not you.”

A patter of rain suddenly rattled on the Copper Coronet's eaves, the clouds no longer willing to wait. The few others out in the streets grumbled and made for whatever shelter they could, but Maera and Kelsey stood still, looking into each other's eyes as the fine mist made halos around the flickering street torches. Her hair clung to her forehead in wet tendrils, and the raindrops sparkled on her pale eyelashes. He wasn’t sure what he would say, but he moved his lips to speak anyway, and he didn’t realize he had leaned forward until he felt them brush hers. He was almost certain he heard her whisper his name, but speaking was quickly rendered insignificant as the touch became a kiss.

At first, they were hesitant, and careful, lips moving gently, neither wanting to overstep or assume. But a strange, heady mix of desperate need and spirit-buoying relief overcame them, and heedless of the rain and any watching eyes, the doubt slipped away, replaced by a surety as solid as the stones beneath their feet. It felt like the warmth of a sunrise after a long, dark night, like the respite of soft ground after a long day's travel, like the taste of cool, fresh water in the heat of the day. It felt like coming home. Everything else in the world might be wrong, but this, at least, was right.

When they finally parted, Maera rested her forehead against his breathlessly. “I’ve really missed you,” she whispered.

He wasn’t going to cry, he told himself. That would just be silly. But then he met her eyes again, and the light was there, the fire that he had seen in them in that first moment on the Promenade, and it was there for him. What the hell. It was already raining anyway. “I’ve missed you too.”

She took his face in her hands, following the rain down his cheeks with her fingertips, smiling softly. “Maybe we should go someplace drier.”

“Yeah…I guess we should head back.”

“Actually, um…” She glanced off to the side, looking almost bashful. “I was thinking we have some catching up to do.”

 _Yes please_. He inhaled quickly, trying to sound as if that was not the most amazingly brilliant idea he had ever heard in his entire life. It probably didn’t work. “Or we could do that.”

* * *

 

A half hour later, a wet and bedraggled messenger arrived at the Five Flagons Inn from the Copper Coronet to inform Jaheira, Imoen, and Minsc that Maera and Kelsey would not be rejoining them until morning. Imoen, feeling much recovered after her evening nap, responded to the news with typical tact and subtlety.

“Good! She needs to get laid."


	17. Versus Bodhi, Round Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I WILL NOT GIVE YOU THE SATISFACTION, YOU BITCH!”_

The wind had shifted after the previous night’s rain, and the sun glinted off the freshly washed rooftops with the particular clarity that only comes after a long night’s storm. It seemed to light favorably on the rather eye-catching young couple who laughingly threaded their way around the deeper puddles, hand in hand. He was tallish, a bit lanky, vividly redheaded, and wearing a blue robe much like a merchant’s, save for the odd embroidery around the collar and down its front. His equally tall companion, fair haired and dark eyed, was less colorfully clad, but the cut of her dark brown leathers was striking in its own right. He dropped her hand to drape his arm across her shoulders, and she smiled as she matched her long stride to his. No one they passed that morning could mistake the lovers for anything other than what they were.

Maera sighed as they passed through the gate onto the Bridge, and Kelsey tilted a curious look in her direction. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“When we walk through that door, it’ll be back to business,” she said. “Back to the real world. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to waste any time – I want to take down Bodhi, I want to get Elhan his Lanthorn back, and I want to get my hands on Irenicus and rip my soul back out through whatever orifice first presents itself.” He chuckled, and she shot him a sidelong glance. “You think I’m joking.”

“I know you’re not.” She made a face, and leaned into his side, forcing him momentarily off-balance. “Hey!” he protested. “If you knock me over, I am taking you with me!”

“See?” She sighed again. “This is nice.”

“Knocking me over is nice?”

She made another face at him, this one more expressive. “Pretending to be normal for a little while is nice. Who knows when we’ll have the chance again.”

Kelsey stopped, slipping his arm from her shoulders to stand face to face. “Probably sooner than you think,” he said. “Look at it this way, Maera; someday this will all be so far behind us it’ll just be a story we tell. One of many.”

She raised an eyebrow, a faint blush staining her cheeks. “So you think you’ll be around for a while, then?”

They began walking again; they could see the pitched roof of the Five Flagons ahead. “I told you I’m not going anywhere,” he replied, then grinned mischievously. “Except where you tell me to go, boss.” He punctuated the last word with a swat at her rear end.

She gasped at him, overplaying her surprise. “You treat all your bosses like that, mister?”

“Just the ones who let me get away with it.” He smiled hugely at her, completely unrepentant, and she sniffed with mock severity.

“Obviously,” she said as they turned the corner towards the Five Flagons’ entrance, “this is going to a discipline issue.”

“Feel free to reprimand me any time you think I need it.”

* * *

 

The Shadowmaster’s office was a place transformed when the party arrived later that morning. His desk had been pushed against a far wall, and a large, plain table had been set in the center of the room, its top covered in scattered papers. Linvail was standing over it, contemplative as a still pool, and Sime sat to the side, busily making notations in a large loose bound book with such an academic air Maera almost wanted to laugh.

“What do you have here, Aran?” she asked, examining the mass of parchment. She picked one up; it looked quite similar to the tomb map she and Yoshimo had made. That night felt like years ago.

“We took advantage of the relative peace and quiet after you left for Brynnlaw to do a little surveying,” Linvail said. “She had quite the ugly enterprise down there. There was an entire downstairs level that we didn’t even know was there the first time around. And side tunnels leading off to two other above ground entrances.”

“So you think that she has returned to this headquarters?” Jaheira eyed the maps skeptically. “Despite the ruin we left it in? And I rather doubt your thieves were any gentler.”

“If she was back to reform her guild, I wouldn’t be so sure, but she’s gone to ground because she’s stolen something.” He flashed her a winning smile. “Give us a little credit, my lady. We _are_ the experts in what people do when they’ve taken something that doesn’t belong to them.”

Jaheira’s eyebrow twitched, but she nodded. “Bodhi is not ‘people’, but I accede the point.”

“Now, it’s always better to overestimate how much the mark knows,” Sime said, still copying, “so we’ve been going at this with the assumption that she knows you’ve followed her back from the Underdark. She’s probably only found that out in the last few days, but there’s still no point in getting cocky.” She tapped her pen on the table, looking up at Maera. “This needs to be done your way. You’re familiar with her, and with the space. What are your suggestions?”

Maera rested an elbow on her folded arm, and looked over the maps, chin in hand. The second level she and her party had not penetrated to in their first assault on the crypt seemed to be one large room, with two smaller spaces off it. Linvail was right; the vampire was laying low in a familiar place. She probably either intended to wait them out, or force a confrontation on ground of her own choosing. They couldn’t give her any more time. “We have no idea what her numbers are down there, but I’m sure she has at least a few,” she said thoughtfully. “Since we’re not just trying to inconvenience her this time, we will need more manpower.” She looked up at Linvail. “We’ll need close-quarters fighters; people who can take some punishment in the process. But I want quality, not quantity.”

Linvail nodded. “Arkanis.” Sime was on her feet and heading for the door even as he spoke. He called after her, “I want him, and a list of his best knifemen, a half dozen _at least_. If he has any plans for the rest of today and tomorrow, he can cancel them.” She acknowledged his orders with a wave of her hand, and Linvail looked back to the adventurers before him. “Well,” he said, his smiled returned, “this will be exciting.”

Sime soon returned with Linvail’s chief assassin, a dour and hawk-nosed man, in tow, and what had begun as a midday strategizing session stretched far longer into the evening than any of them had anticipated. This was mostly out of a desire to cover as many angles as they could think of, but also because after about five hours, Linvail pulled a well-disguised bell pull, which summoned a young thief to the door in less than ten seconds. “Have the kitchen send up dinner for eight,” the Shadowmaster ordered, before looking askance at Minsc. “Actually, make that ten.” The unsurprisingly excellent meal provided by the guildhall kitchen was followed by another sampling of the best of Linvail’s wine cellar, and they were all feeling pleasantly mellow by the time he finished drawing up the last of their plans.

“I honestly envy you a bit,” Linvail said as he sent off Arkanis with the list of those he was to have ready by the next morning. “One of the downsides of achieving a certain level of status is that one doesn’t get to enjoy the more…earthy aspects of one’s profession as much. Oh well. Sime will be with you, though, and she’s my right arm, so I suppose I’ll be there in spirit.”

It was evening when they exited the Shadow Thieves’ guildhouse, and the south Bridge Gate was in sight when Imoen stumbled, the heel of one hand pressed to her temple. Minsc, without missing a step, scooped her into his arms. “Minsc, you don’t have to carry me,” Imoen protested. “It’s just a dizzy spell. I’ll be fine in a minute!”

Minsc shrugged his massive shoulders. “I carry Boo all day, every day, and little Imoen does not weigh much more than a hamster.”

“Um, thanks?”

The three others stifled their chuckles with varying amounts of success, and that small drama concluded, they turned back to the street. Before them stood a cloaked figure who had not been there just a moment previous. The summer night air went cold, and Maera realized before the hood was thrown back who it was. Sime had been right. “Maera!” Bodhi chirped, all false cheer. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Bodhi,” Maera returned, with equal sweetness. She had not expected Bodhi to seek them out, but she would be damned if she let the vampire see her sweat. “We both know it’s never pleasant when we run into each other.”

Bodhi’s canines seemed especially long when she smiled. “Indeed. But I have sought you out for a purpose tonight.”

“What’s that?”

“I have some advice for you.”

“Really! I’m all ears.”

“Walk away from this. Go about whatever business you like, but forget about those arrogant elves, and let me and my dear brother finish our work in peace. There’s no need to involve yourselves in this affair any longer.”

Maera folded her arms, imagining ice water in her veins. Were Bodhi and her ‘dear brother’ really so conceited that they thought she would just step out of the way after everything they had done? Apparently so. “This has nothing to do with the elves, and everything to do with what you’ve taken from me.” She glanced back at Imoen. “From _us_. And you know it.”

Bodhi’s eyes narrowed to catlike slits. “So be it, Child of Bhaal. Then it seems I will have to continue taking from you.” With a movement almost too quick to be seen, she slipped behind Kelsey, a hand closing on his throat. Everyone froze. “I could snap his neck, you know. Or worse.”

“Let him go, Bodhi.” Maera tried to keep the panic out of her voice, but Bodhi was a predator. She could smell it.

“Or what? What will you do, Maera dear, transform again?” Bodhi’s lips curved with baleful satisfaction. “No, you don’t dare. You have no control over the beast.”

“She doesn’t need the Slayer to deal with you,” Kelsey rasped.

“Oh, it talks back! How charming. I like this game.” She leaned in to sniff at Kelsey’s neck; he swallowed hard, revulsion creeping across his face. “Yes, this will be fun.” Bodhi smirked darkly at Maera. “How much more are you willing to lose before you give up and die?”

Maera lunged, catching the edge of Kelsey’s cloak…and they were gone, disappeared into the night by whatever soundless magic it was that Bodhi wielded. In the middle of the dark street, clenching her fists in the cloak, Maera stared into the night with wide, unseeing eyes, all thought consumed by a white roaring in her mind. The shadows under the street torches began to slither towards her, crawling up her body. Her breath came in short, growling gasps; the Slayer shadows circled her as she began to rock slightly back and forth, her knuckles white, her jaw clenched. Minsc hastily set Imoen down and prepared to draw his sword; Imoen and Jaheira shared a quick look, readying themselves for the inevitable, when Maera screamed.

“NO! I WILL NOT GIVE YOU THE SATISFACTION, YOU BITCH!” The shadows around her shattered like glass. Panting with suppressed wrath, she rounded on her companions, eyes diamond hard, and snarled, “She hasn’t bought herself any time. We go back to the inn. We move in the morning. _Nothing changes the plan_.”

* * *

 

The sun was just peeking over the rooftops of the City of Coin when Imoen tentatively knocked on Maera’s door. She found her sister in her armor, sitting on the obviously unused bed, staring at a bundle of dark blue cloth in her lap. Kelsey’s cloak. “I should have known,” she muttered distantly, shaking her head. “I should have known she wouldn’t just lay low and wait. I should have known she would try something. I was complacent. Sime was even talking about not getting cocky, and that’s exactly what I did.”

Imoen chewed on her lip. “Mae…you can’t plan for everything. You just can’t.” Maera was silent, guilt and self-loathing still written in bold characters across her face. How irritating, Imoen thought. She puckered her mouth in disapproval. “Maera, if you don’t stop this, I’m going to slap you across the face. Then my hand’ll hurt and you’ll be mad at me!” Maera’s lips moved in a manner that wanted to be a smile, but just didn’t have the heart. Imoen sighed. “She grabbed Kelsey to hurt you, Mae. That’s…her thing. She likes that."

Maera flushed and stuffed the cloak behind her. “You must think I’m pretty silly for letting it get to me.”

“You’ve got it bad for the guy, and that’s okay. I do wish the circumstances were different so it wasn’t so weird for everyone involved.” Imoen glanced out the window, at the gold limned rooflines, and said, “I mean, you’ve always been so reserved. With men, anyway. And he was not in the picture when they took me, and then you show up at Spellhold with him, and it’s _screamingly_ obvious something serious is going on, and…” Her voice caught. “And I had to wonder, if you had time to start fooling around with some guy, did you even miss me?” She sniffled. Darn it all, she hadn’t meant to cry.

Maera stared at her, mouth open, struck to the core at the suggestion. “Gods, Im, I missed you every day! Like a part of me was gone. Kelsey helped keep me sane.” She scuffed the edge of the worn rug with her stockinged feet. “And I was so excited to introduce him to you, because I thought you’d really like him, but then…everything went wrong, and I didn’t know what to do anymore.”

“Well,” Imoen said, sitting beside her, “tell me about him now.”

Pensively, Maera looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. “When the Cowled Wizards took you,” she finally said, her words carefully measured, “I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. With everything that had happened – waking up in that hole, knowing we’d lost Khalid and Dynaheir – everything seemed so bleak. Even meeting Bayle and finding out there was a way to get you back, it still felt like I was just going through the motions.” She raised her head, her eyes fixed on the wall across the room. “And then there he was. He seemed so ordinary at first. He said he’d been at the Promenade, saw what happened, and that he wanted to make up for doing anything to help us. For some reason, it never even occurred to me to tell him no. After that…” She flushed again and shrugged vaguely. “He’s funny, and he's smart, and a hundred times sweeter to me than I’d ever deserve. We’d talk, and he would look at me like I was the most interesting person he had ever met. It was like I’d always known him, but I just hadn’t met him until then.”

Imoen gave her a knowing look. “And there was also the fact you wanted to lay him like a Calimshan carpet, right? Because honestly, Mae, the sexual tension was kinda ridiculous.”

Maera spread her hands, chuckling sheepishly. “What can I say? He’s got a beautiful smile, nice shoulders…cute butt.”

“He’s not bad,” Imoen conceded. “Kinda skinny, though.”

“He is a bit skinny, yes,” Maera agreed, and her smile grew somber. “I really love him, Im. Some things in this world just belong together. I think we do.” Imoen smiled as well, and was about to put her arm around her sister’s shoulders when Maera sucked in a deep, shaking breath, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t know if he’s okay, Im! I don’t know where he is, or what she’s done to him, or is doing, and-” Her voice rose with emotion, and Imoen felt a surge of sympathy. She took Maera’s face in her hands and kissed her firmly on the forehead.

“So you kick her butt and you save him, Mae. That’s what you do.”

Maera nodded, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth as she drew in those calming breaths Gorion had always had her doing. “I can’t lose my head,” she murmured. “Not again. I cannot let her push me.” She stood and reached for her boots. “How’re you feeling?”

Imoen blinked, both at the sudden shift in topic, and the acknowledgment. “Okay for now. Jaheira’s headache tonic is good stuff. But I’m hoping after we beat Bodhi, I won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“Me too,” Maera nodded. She glanced at the floor again and then said, “Im, I have been such an ass. I didn’t listen to the dreams and look where it’s gotten us.”

“The dreams?”

“During the ritual. The whole bit about standing together. We said it to each other in our dreams. But I was so terrified by what happened in Spellhold, I didn’t listen. And I’m sorry. Maybe this wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t been such a self-centered idiot.”

It was only fair to let her sweat for a minute, so Imoen did not immediately respond. But she couldn’t help but smile a little, and stood to embrace her sister as she said, “Apology accepted.”

Maera hugged her hard. “I love you, Im.”

“Well you should,” Imoen said, keeping her tone light even as her throat caught, “because I am damn lovable.”

“Two parts of a greater whole, right?” Maera sniffled even as she smiled.

“That’s us.” The vise that had clenched Imoen’s heart loosed, and they were back on even ground again. “And when we get Bodhi safely killed, and get your boy back, you can buy me a drink, little sister.”

Maera raised an eyebrow, staring down at the top of Imoen’s head. “Little?”

“What? We don’t know which one of us is older.”

“That’s true, but I object to being called little by someone ten inches shorter than me.”

Imoen ‘accidentally’ trod on Maera’s foot as she withdrew from the hug. “Fine, rub it in, you darn giant.”

* * *

 

Sime and Arkanis were waiting for them near the main Graveyard gate, blending into the morning shadows cast by the tall tombs. Sime looked pleased to see them, but as she counted heads, her brow furrowed. “Where’s Kelsey?”

“Bodhi,” Maera said shortly.

“Oh.” Sime pursed her lips in uncomfortable understanding. “This won’t, um, be a problem, will it? Apart from the obvious problem, of course.”

Maera’s only motion was a very deep, controlled breath. “I’m still planning on tearing down her little lair stone by stone and then ramming a stake so far into her heart it comes out the other side. So, apart from the obvious problem, no.”

Sime carefully looked around Maera at Jaheira, who shrugged. Arkanis whistled shrilly, and the remainder of the assigned Shadow Thieves joined them. In accordance with the previous day’s plan, Sime distributed wooden stakes to everyone before they split into two groups, and took up their positions to prepare for their assault.

 _If at first you don’t succeed_ , Maera thought grimly. They stationed themselves outside the south entrance to Bodhi’s lair; she, Imoen, Arkanis, and his trio of thieves. Maera readied a torch, and as the striker scraped the flint, she remembered another torch, flames springing to life under a familiar long-fingered hand. She briefly closed her eyes, clawing for composure. Losing herself again would only give Bodhi what she wanted, and to Maera’s mind, the vampire had had entirely too many victories so far. _By the time you die, Bodhi_ , she thought, _you_ _ **will**_ _regret everything you’ve done._

Arkanis shot her a glance, and tested his short sword’s blade on his thumb. “We ready?” he grunted.

“As ready as we’ll ever be. Im, send the signal.” Imoen raised her hand and a spray of fiery sparks shot upward, signaling Jaheira, Minsc, and Sime to begin their descent.

The tomb was as darkly beautiful as before, though there were soot stains on the walls, evidence of their previous visit. There was movement in the shadows, and she smiled coldly. Time to go to work. She tossed her torch on the floor a few yards ahead, and the vampires, provoked, rushed her. One she slashed across the abdomen then clubbed with Daystar’s hilt. Another she skewered and slammed face first into the wall. A third she simply beheaded. She was aware of the fighting going on around her – aware of the assassins and their long daggers and of Imoen’s fiery arrows, but they were simply noise in her ears. She was busy.

But it was still there, in the back of her mind, the darkness pressing at the seams and edges. Once it had been angry at her refusal to allow it entry, but now it seemed almost smug, as if it knew she couldn’t keep it out forever. Maera swung crosswise at a fledgling female vampire, still clad in the shopgirl’s dress she had worn in life. Just a few days before, she had been a living thing, and this was her fate. Undeath at Bodhi’s cold hands, and now true death at Maera’s _._ Jaw tightening, she sliced the vampire hard across the torso, and the body dissolved into mist, fleeing insubstantially for the safety of its coffin and bed of dirt. This was all Bodhi’s doing. With her cooing voice and her oily smirk and her godsdamned superior attitude, WHO THE HELL DID SHE THINK SHE WAS-

“Mae?” Imoen’s whisper caught her off guard, and she realized she had stopped walking and stood in the center of the corridor, her grip on Daystar so tight her hand was numb, the shadows stirring restlessly in her wake. Arkanis was watching her with detachment, but none of his trio of assassins had so much command of their features, and faced her with various shades of unease. _Damn_. Maera scrubbed her off hand across her face.

“Sorry,” she coughed uncomfortably. “Let’s keep going.”

Their path took them by the former coffin room, which stood empty now, its walls blackened and still smelling faintly of smoke. A short distance past it, another group of hissing fledglings flung themselves out of the darkness. One of them appeared barely past childhood, and Maera could feel a rush of anger lap at her like the hot waves of a bloody ocean. Wasn’t it all right to be _righteously_ angry, though? Didn’t Bodhi deserve it? After everything she had done, hadn’t she earned every bit of fury Maera could direct at her?

Claws through the gut would teach her.

Daystar glowed faintly in the gloom, like a pale reflection of the rising sun, and Maera breathed deep as she thrust it forward towards her next target. _No need for claws. I’ve got a blade._

They fought their way to the great central chamber, Maera dispatching a final vampire with a long blow that opened it from shoulder to hip. She looked up, and saw Minsc, Jaheira, and Sime enter, flanked by Sime’s subordinates. They appeared to have met a similar amount of resistance.

The long room had obviously been picked over by the Shadow Thieves in the wake of Bodhi’s abandonment of the lair. Bits of the wall mosaics had been chipped out, and a stone door obviously meant to be unseen was partially open, its iron tracks bent. Stairs were barely visible beyond, and Imoen rubbed her arms. “She’s downstairs. I can tell. It’s a really weird sensation.” Jaheira reached out to check her temperature again, and she shook her head. “It’s okay, Jaheira. I’m okay. I’m just all…tingly.”

Maera eyed the previously secret door. The Shadow Thieves must have discovered it and forced it open to prevent its reuse, but Bodhi’s vampires had apparently attempted to repair it. “Help me get this door open,” she said, and Minsc and one of the larger thieves aided her in wrenching the door back on its runners. The descending stairs disappeared into the darkness, with just a hint of a turn at their base. Maera stared down them speculatively. “Im? You got any lightning for me?” Imoen nodded. “Bounce a bolt down there, please. Let’s clear out any rats that might be waiting.”

“Everybody clear the door,” Imoen said as she moved to the top of the stairs. “Just in case. I’ve never been that good at geometry.”

Her modesty proved false; the lightning bolt that left her hands ricocheted off the wall at the bottom, illuminating the darkness. There were a pair of distant screams, cut short, from below, and they descended with Sime in the lead, searching out traps. The air smelled of the dissipated lightning, and as they approached the door to Bodhi’s sanctum, of blood. Maera felt an odd, very faint buzzing in the very back of her head, and glanced over at Imoen, who looked as though she could barely breathe. She gripped her sister’s shoulder. “I think Bodhi needs to learn some manners.” Imoen nodded, grimly hopeful. Maera leaned back, and kicked in the door.

“Hi, Bodhi,” she said coolly. “I know it’s rude to drop in unannounced, but somehow I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

Bodhi sneered. “Again you come on another’s business. Elhan sent you, didn’t he? Do you even know why?”

“Frankly, I don’t care if all you did was kick his dog. I’ll take any opportunity I can find to be the end of you.”

“Poor thing. Always doing the dirty work of others. Others who are too cowardly to do it for themselves. The elves are not incidental, my dear. Do you think because they are beautiful they are incapable of wrong? Because they are ancient they cannot be fools? Don’t be blinded by them. They do not deserve your aid.”

Maera flexed her fingers on Daystar’s hilt, letting the familiar grip comfort her. “You took from us, so you can destroy them. I don’t know why, and I don’t need to. There’s nothing you can say to make me change my mind, so we might as well save our breath for trying to kill each other.”

The vampire’s lips curled into an ugly, mirthless smile. “Justify it as you like. You’ve still chosen your side, after I warned you not to. Would you like to see the price you’ve paid for not heeding me last night? Your toy is mine now, Child of Bhaal – and I can see why you were so attached to him.”

A figure stepped from the shadows from among the vampires who silently lined the walls, awaiting Bodhi’s order. But it wasn’t Kelsey. It only looked like him. His skin was so pale as to be colorless, his once lively features utterly blank. That was not the face she’d seen softened by candlelight and passion. Those lips could not possibly curve in a shy smile. Those dead eyes would never dance with good humor. A huge ragged wound marked the side of his throat, the blood thick and blackened. Grief reached into her chest and twisted her heart with a giant’s strength, an internal scream threatening to drown out all rationality. He was standing right in front of her, but he was gone.

The satisfaction on Bodhi’s face made Maera’s hands ache to wipe it off by force, and an animal growl of rage rose in her throat. The shadows nipped at her; hounds set on a fox, baying to be let loose. The vampire just kept taking, and taking, but no more. This could only end one of two ways, and Maera found she was fine with either outcome. She probably had something left to lose, but she couldn’t think of it at the moment. She felt an icy chill of utter determination steal over her, steam rising from the rage it quenched. “Stealing seems to run in the family, Bodhi. Souls, relics, people. Someone needs to teach you a lesson. I nominate me.”

An arrow whistled by Maera’s ear, burying itself halfway to the fletching in Bodhi’s shoulder. “Oops,” Imoen said, deadpan. The vampire hissed, enraged. She ripped the arrow out, launched herself towards Maera, and the air exploded in violence. _Now would be a good time_ , Maera thought, and Daystar responded, filling the chamber with light. The vampires howled, and the side of the living pressed their advantage. The thieves fought silently, slitting throats and stabbing backs, as Minsc roared, swinging his great sword in huge arcs. Jaheira stood between the onslaught and Imoen, who alternated between spells and her bow.

The ebb and flow of battle pushed her towards the base of a large gargoyle statue, and Maera could not let herself let herself flag. An elbow to a throat, a kick that sent something sprawling. Daystar’s blade was dark with blood, and she lost track of both Bodhi and Kelsey in the confusion. The vampire before her, its skin raw with angry burns, snarled as it reached for her with claw-like fingers. She was almost fast enough, but not quite, and connection was made, leaving her cheek stinging from the fresh wound. The sight of fresh blood made the vampire’s eyes light, and in its eagerness for her throat, she was able to duck low, ramming her shoulder into its chest. Thrown off balance, it could not recover in time to defend against the stabbing thrust that skewered it. Maera turned quickly on the ball of her foot, and found herself face to face with Bodhi.

The vampire’s eyes were wild, and Maera took an instant of bleak pleasure, knowing she was hard pressed. “What’s wrong, Bodhi?” she asked, breathing heavily. “No fair fighting back?”

Bodhi’s answering growl was some strange mix of feline and demonic. “Ants sting, but they still die. So will you, no matter what you do.”

Across the room, Maera saw Imoen, and their eyes met, even as Imoen loosed another arrow. A plan flashed into being in her mind, and she swung at Bodhi, forcing her back a step. “Whether I live or die isn’t the point right now. What matters is getting back what you’ve stolen.”

“You show such disdain for theft, yet you appear surrounded by Aran Linvail’s finest.” Bodhi grimaced as her grab for Maera’s throat was thwarted by Daystar’s blade.

Maera let Bodhi go on the offense, but gave her no ground, keeping an eye towards Imoen. If she could get the vampire back just a few more steps, it would be perfect. “I think Aran would be offended to hear you compare your business to his.” She swung again, hard, just as Bodhi’s arm moved, and Bodhi staggered back a pace. “But you’re about to make up for it all.”

The din of battle was still too great for her to hear the arcane words Imoen chanted, but Maera knew that spell well enough to know when to throw herself out of the way. A fan of blue-white fire burst from Imoen’s spread hands, and Bodhi was directly in it path. She screamed, an eerie, unnaturally high sound. “No,” she gasped, her voice rising to a wail. “NO!”

Maera slashed one last time, and Bodhi doubled over the gaping wound in her abdomen, black blood gushing between her fingers. “That’s the price _you_ pay for not heeding _me_ ,” Maera panted.

The vampire’s form shuddered, going hazy and gaseous. It flowed towards one of the small side chambers, and Imoen was there, following it into the crypt beyond, gripping a stake she had thrust into her belt. An ornate sarcophagus rested on a carved marble bier; apparently Bodhi had desired greater luxuries than she had afforded her minions. The instant the gas settled into the coffin, Imoen flung open the lid and rammed the stake down with all her strength. She dropped to her knees, but was already picking herself up as Maera reached her side. She took a deep breath, and smiled. “I think I feel better already,” she said. As she re-entered the sanctum, her step surprisingly springy (even for her), Maera glanced back into the coffin, and furrowed her brow. Bodhi’s heart had not dissolved with the rest of her.

The last of Bodhi’s vampires had been dispatched, and the thieves were tending to their wounded. Sime leaned against a wall, her right cheek swollen, nursing a long gash on her left arm. Wordlessly, Maera handed her a healing potion, which she accepted with a faint smile of thanks. She swished it around her mouth for a moment before swallowing. “We spotted their new coffin room on the way down,” she said. “We’ll torch it on our way out.” She sighed uncomfortably, and inclined her head to the floor beside her, drawing Maera’s eye to the body that lay there, sprawled on its back. Maera’s throat tightened. It was Kelsey. “I took him down as gently as I could,” Sime said quietly. “I’m sorry, Maera.” She took another swig of potion, and clapped Maera on the shoulder. “Arkanis! Is everyone accounted for?” The assassin answered in the affirmative, and the sanctum emptied as the Shadow Thieves made their slow exit.

Three sets of eyes turned towards Maera, who leaned against the wall, resting her head against the rough bricks. She stared up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes, and her lips moved, but only Imoen was close enough to hear what she whispered.

“If either of us died tomorrow, what would we…”

 


	18. Amaunator's Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The trader's son and the god's daughter..._

“Are they gone?” Maera glanced up to see Imoen’s nod, and her knees buckled. She slid down the wall to the floor.

Imoen knelt beside her, gently pulling her head to her shoulder. Maera was dimly aware of Minsc and Jaheira nearby, standing close, and she was grateful for them, but she felt oddly detached, empty, as if her heart had simply cracked, and every emotion had drained away. She leaned against Imoen's shoulder until her sister slowly stood, pulling her to her feet. Jaheira rubbed her upper arm gently with understanding in her eyes before disappearing into Bodhi’s crypt, with Minsc on her heels, worry and confusion on his broad face. Imoen touched Maera's cheek, staring up at her intently. "Mae. Talk to me."

Shaking her head vaguely, Maera whispered, "I don't know what to do, Im. I have no idea what to do. Should we bury him? And oh gods-" She clapped her hands over her mouth. "I'm gonna have to tell his _mother_. Oh my gods. 'Hi, I got your son bitten by a vampire!'". Her eyes widened in heartsick horror as she heard herself speak. "Is he gonna turn? Will I have to…”

“Don't,” Imoen said firmly. "Do not freak yourself out like that. You won’t have to stake or behead him. She may have bit him, but the process obviously wasn’t that far along." Maera’s confusion was evident, so she elaborated. “No gaseous form. He’s still here. And if he’s still here, there still may be something we can do for him.”

Maera nodded, trying to get her thoughts back in order, then blurted, “When did you get so grown-up, Im?”

The ironic ghost of a smile flickered across Imoen’s face. “Sometime between the first and second kidnappings, I think.” She wound her arm around Maera’s waist, and Maera in turn rested her cheek against the crown of her sister’s head. They stood silently thus until Jaheira reappeared from the crypt. She held a small lantern in her hands, scarcely two hands’ breadths in height. Typical of elvish works, it was elegant in its simplicity, its smooth, polished surface marked only with a pair of flowing symbols. The Tree and The Source. Maera realized that, in a graceful bit of wordplay, the two runes combined to form the word Rillifane. They had been right. Bodhi had had the Lanthorn. She sighed. If nothing else, Irenicus was back within her grasp. And with every blow she sustained, that grasp was getting tighter.

Minsc followed with a stack of books in his arms, his lips curled in disgust. “The vampire read nasty books!” he proclaimed, dropping them to the floor. Imoen read the spines with interest.

“Interesting bedtime reading for a vampire,” she said.

In spite of herself, Maera’s curiosity was piqued. She flipped open the bloodstained cover of the first tome. _Dea Vampir Becomos_. The pages were stiff, and the binding crumbled a bit in her hands as she picked it up. Her heart was chilled as she read. “She was researching how vampires are made,” she said, quickly turning a page to avoid a particularly gory illustration.

“You would think she already knew how it worked,” Imoen replied, equally intrigued by the book she was skimming.

Maera bit her lip, and glanced at Kelsey’s body, newborn hope fluttering weakly in her heart. “Do you think…”

Imoen tilted her head in understanding. “If there’s a way to reverse it, I bet we’ll find it in these.”

The sisters settled in beside the pile of books, and Jaheira almost would have smiled to see the two refugees from Candlekeep back in their native environment if the task at hand had not been so grim. Bodhi had apparently been amassing her collection for some time, and it was not light reading. Here were the secrets of the transformation – the transference of blood, and the loss of the soul. The metaphysics were enough to make one’s eyes cross. As they continued to plow through the books, Maera felt her eyelids begin to droop. When had she last slept? She wasn’t even sure anymore.

“I think I found something!” Imoen exclaimed, and Maera started awake, realizing her head had come to rest on Minsc’s shoulder.

“What?”

“This may be it, Mae.” Imoen tapped the pages of the book spread on the floor before her. “This book is full of stories from priests about run-ins with vampires, and one of them is really old, by a priest of… Amaunator?” She pursed her lips. “I am not familiar with that name.”

“I am,” Maera whispered.

“Anyway, they were in the Umar Hills…isn’t that just a couple of days from here? They were in the Hills, and one of their group was attacked and incompletely turned by a vampire. They killed the sire before the transformation was finished. He says they took their comrade’s body and ‘laid him in the arms of the god’ with the sire’s heart…” She gave Maera a significant look. “And he was restored.”

The words sunk in slowly. “The arms of the god…” Maera breathed. “Oghma’s books. The temple in the Hills! The altar!” Her mind was ablaze with the possibilities, when a sobering thought struck her with cold reality. “But… that’s two days from here at least. We can’t keep Elhan waiting like that, I mean…we promised him, and who knows what Irenicus is doing in Suldenessellar, and-”

“Maera.” Jaheira’s voice was soft, but edged sharp as a knife. “Maera, would you deny Kelsey the chance to be restored out of a sense of duty to Elhan and the elves?”

From the corner of her eye, Maera could still see Kelsey’s corpse. She had seen him thus in her nightmares, bloodless and loose-limbed, while the Slayer laughed. She shook her head, a tiny, tense movement. “No,” she whispered.

“You have a duty to him as well, do you not?” Jaheira stepped close to her, gripping her upper arms _almost_ tight enough to hurt. “Maera, sometimes, it is acceptable to be selfish. You should fear no one’s approbation in doing so.”

Maera's mouth moved, her eyes growing wet. She stood in stiff, desperate silence for what felt like half a lifetime, then cast Minsc a sudden, pleading look. “Can you carry him?”

* * *

 

She knew she was pushing them hard, but she couldn’t stop. Every time Maera looked back at her three companions, doggedly keeping pace with her, her heart swelled with gratitude. They had all three lost so much, given up so much, for her, and yet they were still there.

It was long past sunset when they finally made a rough little camp near the roadside. They dispensed with a fire and tents, spreading their blankets under the open sky. Jaheira and Imoen were already lying down as Minsc carefully laid Kelsey's body, now wrapped in a tent canvas, down on a level patch of ground. He was in the process of digging another canvas from his pack when Maera stopped him. "Thank you, Minsc. I'll handle it from here."

Minsc pointedly finished withdrawing the canvas and covered Kelsey's still form with it. "I am helping."

The prim correctness of his tone made her want to laugh, but she had a feeling that if she did, it would come out with such hysteria she would not be able to stop. She settled for a sigh. "You shouldn't have to."

"Why not?" The ranger looked genuinely perplexed. "Kelsey is one of us. Boo has always liked him very much. Though not as much as you do," he added hastily. The potential laugh made it halfway out before she strangled it back, still unsure of her ability to control it. Minsc didn’t seem to notice as he continued. "We could not save Dynaheir, or Khalid. But maybe we can save Kelsey, and that would be good, right?”

Her shoulders shook, but the tears streaming down her cheeks told she wasn't laughing. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be good.”

They left the highway early, cutting cross-country towards the temple, and on the evening of the second day, they reached the altar. Imoen looked around, giving her arms a quick, nervous rub. “Shade Lord, huh?” Jaheira nodded. “Well, can’t say you guys were sitting around doing nothing while I was gone, at least.” Minsc picked his way over the broken paving stones and placed Kelsey’s limp body in the statue’s outstretched arms, fastidiously clearing a bit of detritus out of the way first. Maera unwrapped the thick cloth that covered Bodhi’s heart and laid it on his chest. The twilight gathered about them, steel gray and chill. They waited. Maera could hear her heart pounding in her ears; every breath seemed to take an eternity. She felt like she should pray, but the only word she had, echoing loud as a drum in her mind, was please _. Please._

The statue’s eyes were made of some sort of golden mica, and at first, it seemed as if the setting sun simply caught them at a better angle, for they glowed faintly. The light gradually increased, until suddenly they flared, lit from somewhere deep within with a brilliant orange light. Bodhi’s heart seemed to melt away like ice on a hot pan. And again they waited in silence.

Kelsey inhaled. He did not gasp dramatically, nor did he bolt upright. He simply began to breathe again. Color warmed his face, and the wound on his neck began to knit back together. Minsc quickly lifted him down from the statue’s arms, propping him gently against the base, and the motion seemed to rouse him. Maera knelt by his side as his eyes flickered open. His hand groped for hers, and she took it, pressing it to her lips.

He swallowed dryly, squinting at her. “Maera?"

"It's me," she whispered. "I'm here."

“What happened?”

“Details later, okay? How do you feel?”

“I-” He inhaled sharply, his eyes popping wide with distant horror. “Bodhi.”

“She’s dead.”

“Then you... you brought me back.” With her help, he pulled himself up to sit under his own strength, his eyes resting on Imoen, Jaheira, and Minsc before gripping her hand so hard it almost hurt. “You brought me back.” His eyes were dark with some unexpressed emotion as she wrapped her arms about him, and he slowly returned the embrace, sagging against her as if in relief.

* * *

 

He couldn’t seem to warm up. He huddled before the fire in their room in the Imnesvale inn, wrapped in both his cloak and Maera’s. She sat on the bed, trying to look like her attention was focused on the map before her, not him. He almost smiled. Surreptitiousness was not among her many talents.

Noticing his gaze, she gave up the charade, and moved to sit beside him on the floor, legs crossed, head tilted. “Do you...remember any of it?” she asked.

“Yes and no.” Her eyes questioned him. “I saw things, when she bit me.” His hand went to his neck, even though he knew there was no wound there anymore. “But I can’t really describe them, because my mind just...gave up, like it was too much to bear. I remember seeing you, though. I thought you were there. And I wanted you, but not-” He rubbed his neck, fighting the phantom itch. "And I remember the blood. There was so much. Like an ocean. And I…I wanted more."

There was no horror in her eyes; she simply nodded. “I know what that’s like. But it’s over now, Kelsey. Bodhi’s dead. You won’t ever have to see those things again.”

"I know.” He turned his head to look at her fully. Her chest rose and fell with each breath she took; he had never realized how amazing the act of breathing truly was. “How do you do it?” he asked softly. “You have those awful dreams and visions…and you’re still you."

She shifted under the weight of his gaze, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear uneasily. “I still maintain that being me isn’t anything to get excited about,” she said, trying for a lightness of tone she didn’t feel.

He would not be deterred. He reached out and touched her face, cradling her cheek against his palm. Her skin was so warm. “It is, though. I couldn’t face the darkness Bodhi had to show me for even a day. But you withstand a _god_. And you’ve done it for years. Maera…do you have any idea how incredible that is?” His eyes lingered on hers as his hand trailed down the side of her neck to her breast, resting over her heart. “Your heart’s beating,” he whispered.

She returned the gesture, placing her own hand over his heart. “So’s yours.” He breathed deep. It didn’t just feel good to have her touch him, it felt _right._ He leaned forward, intending to kiss her lightly, but the contact of his lips to hers seemed to send a shock down his spine. He kissed her hungrily, urgently, and the force of it caught her off balance. Her arms pinwheeled, but it was too late. She landed on her back, his weight bearing her to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he said hastily, sitting up. “Are you okay?”

She chuckled from her supine position, and held open her arms. “I’m fine. Come here.”

He smiled, and rested his head against her chest, her heartbeat echoing comfortingly in his ears. They lay there in silence, his fingers tapping on her collarbone with the rhythm of her pulse, and then he said, “The last thing I clearly remember, before waking up earlier this evening, was her telling me I belonged to her now. And I remember thinking, I can’t. I already belong to someone else.”

She didn’t reply immediately, but her arms tightened around him. “Some things in this world just belong together,” she whispered finally.

“Like us.”

“Like us.”

The silence lengthened pleasantly, and time became a distant concern. Maera shifted, and sighed deeply, prompting Kelsey to lift his head. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth was half open. She had fallen asleep on him again. Under him, this time, he corrected mentally. It was little wonder, though. She hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in days. But he knew he could not join her. He felt as if he had been asleep for days – as she had gone without, he had been overindulged. He sat up, contemplating her sleeping form.

It would have been nice, he thought, to be able to sweep her up from the floor and carry her to bed, but reality laughed at him. He nudged her carefully, and helped her to bed, where she flopped onto her back without ever once opening her eyes. He pursed his mouth thoughtfully. At least she had already removed her corselet and jerkin, but that still left those damn leather pants. Even though the view they afforded was magnificent in every imaginable way, he had learned the hard way that getting them off, even with her help, could be an incredible pain. He sighed and started unfastening.

The fact she hadn’t woken by the time he was done was a testament to just how exhausted she really was.

He tucked the blanket up around her as she rolled onto her side with a sigh. _The trader’s son and the god’s daughter_ , he thought to himself as he kissed her hair gently. _What a pair we make_.

He slipped his notebook into his pocket and blew out the lamp, heading for the common room. He felt as though he _ought_ to write, but there was so much to add from his last entry (which had ended with “Jaheira has just stopped by my room to inform me that she’s bored. I suggested cards, she said yes. Odds I will regret this: 2:1.”), that it almost seemed pointless to try. So he sat at the table closest to the fireplace, gazing into the embers.

Imoen knew she should be tired, but the return of her soul had been a jolt of energy she had yet to burn through. She stood in the door of the common room, and watched the redheaded sorcerer stare at the fireplace. It irritated her that she hadn’t really had the chance to get to know him very well yet. That he and her sister had A Serious Thing would be obvious to the blind, and it certainly had been for her from the minute they showed up in Spellhold. Imoen truly was glad that Maera had found someone who made her happy, but before she could decide whether or not she approved of this arrangement, she felt like she needed to know him better. It was only fair. Maera may have come out with it, but she was only half of the equation.

She swung a chair around across the table from him and straddled it, all business. “All right, Red.” He looked up, startled. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna buy me a drink. We’re gonna talk. And I’m gonna decide whether or not you get to keep sleeping with my sister.”

He blinked. “You know, when Jaheira and I had this talk, she just threatened me to beat me to death. I didn’t have to buy her anything.”

Imoen laughed. “Well, for one, Jaheira’s not much a drinker. And she also prefers to start with threats of violence and work her way back from there. It’s a time saving thing.”

“Efficient.”

“I know.”

His lips quirked. “So what are you drinking?”

“The cheapest swill they’ve got on tap.”

### One Beer Later

“I know it’s not very exciting, but that’s kind of the point, I guess,” Kelsey said. “My life was just…there, you know? I didn’t feel like I had a purpose. I was just marking time. Til the next season. And then the next one after that.” He took another drink and made a face. “This stuff really is awful, Imoen. I’ve had the beer here before. The local brew is good. Why did you want this?”

Imoen grinned. “Well, if I’m gonna get drunk on your copper, I ought to be considerate, right? Besides, it’s got you talking.”

### Two Beers Later

“And there was no way they weren’t going to see me. I was a goner. But Maera’s keeping watch for me, right? So she runs out into the hall, and trips all over herself. And it wasn’t a trick fall, either. She banged up her knee really bad. But the distraction was enough that I was able to get out the window.”

“Yikes…how old were you?”

“Twelve or so, I guess. She never told on me, but as soon as her knee healed, she beat the crap out of me.” He laughed, and she waved a warning finger at him. “I’ve seen her with you, and she’s all doe eyed and gooey now, but just you wait, my friend. She punches like a golem.” She took another, thoughtful sip. “Though I suppose it’s better when she gets it out of her system like that than when she holds a grudge. She didn’t let me forget about the whiskey incident for YEARS.”

“Whiskey incident?”

“Well, I probably shouldn’t… Oh, what the heck. We were about fifteen, and…”

### Three Beers Later

“I can’t imagine actually _studying_ magic. I just…make it happen. And I’ve only just now gotten to the point where that doesn’t terrify me. I have to say, I really respect mages. I mean, I’m sure you understand what’s going on when you cast a spell a lot better than I do.”

Imoen sighed into her drink. “I miss Dynaheir. She was the one who taught me the basics, you know. Gave me my first spellbook and an hour-long lecture on the responsibilities of a witch. She took that really seriously; in Rashemen, the witches are real pillars of the community. You don’t study magic for fun there. I know a lot of people thought she was stuck up, but she was actually just really smart, and kinda shy, and _super_ serious, so that’s just how she came across. But she was a good teacher. She was good at explaining complicated things in simple terms.”

Kelsey raised his mug. “To fallen friends?”

“Hear, hear.”

### Four Beers Later

“I'm probably gonna regret asking this, but…I’ve gotta know. Give me a timeline here. When did you and Mae first…” She made an obscene hand gesture.

Kelsey sputtered foam from his beer all over the table.

### Five Beers Later

“TWICE?”

“Imoen, keep your voice down!” There were only a few others in the common room, but Kelsey looked about self-consciously nonetheless.

“Sorry.” Imoen didn’t actually appear to be very apologetic at all. “But seriously, only _twice_? The way you two had been drooping after each other, I’d expected a much higher number, that’s all.”

### Six Beers Later

“I don’t need that freak Irenicus telling me I’m a Bhaalspawn for me to know Maera’s my sister. And I mean, really, from what I understand, there are Bhaalspawn of every race you can imagine! Not just humans and elves and halflings, but gnolls, and kobolds, and maybe even dragons! So I dunno…it doesn’t feel like the rest of them are my siblings. Why should they be? Sarevok called her ‘sister’ a lot, but I think he did that just to get under her skin.

“It takes more than that to make you family. Maera and I grew up together. She’s my best friend. I don’t even really remember much about my life before I came to Candlekeep. I had to have been at least ten, but my first really clear memory is meeting her there at the Keep. Like nothing was really important until then.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Nah. If I can’t remember it, there’s no point in missing it.”

Kelsey rested his cheek on his fist. “Well, I don’t think anybody could say you and Maera aren’t sisters, blood relation or not. She wouldn’t. When the Cowled Wizards took you, she was willing to do anything to get you back. I’ve never met anyone so driven. It would almost be scary if it weren’t so admirable. But she’s absolutely fearless! You could see it in her eyes – she was going to find you and nothing was going to get in her way.”

Imoen grinned. “Things that get in her way tend to end up in chunks.” She shot him a look. “And I think it’s safe to say that Bodhi’s last mistake was grabbing you. I mean, Mae was gonna thump her anyway, but after that…” She whistled. “Nothing but a grease spot.”

His ears reddened. “It wasn’t just for me.”

“Awww, you’re cute when you’re embarrassed!” She flicked a spot of foam off her mug at him, grinning. “Don’t sell yourself short, Red. You’ve gotta have something going for you to get a catch like her.”

### Seven Beers Later

They lay outside in the grass, looking up at the stars, having firmly but tipsily cut themselves off. Imoen gazed up at the sky, a dreamy expression on her face. “So tell me, Kels…really, truly, and honestly. What are your intentions regarding my sister?”

Kelsey lolled his head over to look at her. “Oh, you’re good.”

She giggled. “Hells yes I am.”

He turned his face back towards the sky, chuckling. “It’s crazy really. We haven’t known each other all that long, if you think about it. But the first time I saw her, it was like she reached out and pulled me to her, and I had no choice but to follow her. I looked into her eyes and I had to know who she was. I had to. And now, I can’t imagine my life without her. She’s changed _everything_ , Imoen; how I look at life, myself, my magic. I think about my life, before that day on the Promenade, and I realize now that I couldn’t have kept going like that for much longer. Something had to change. She was the spark.

“I didn't realize it at the time, but I think I fell in love with her in Trademeet. She was sitting by the fountain, laughing, and she was so beautiful. And I thought, she should get to be this happy every day. I wanted to let it last forever for her, because that's what she deserves.”

“She has this light about her,” Imoen murmured, “like one of those alabaster lamps. You can’t see the flame inside, but it lights up the whole thing.”

“Yeah, she does.” He looked at her again. “Imoen, that was really eloquent.”

“Don’t let my simple exterior fool you,” she said with inebriated haughtiness.

“So do I pass? Do I get to keep sleeping with her? Because one,” he thrust a wobbling finger into the air, “you may give me crap about the twice thing, but I am very much looking forward to sending that number into double digits. Triple, actually, but I don’t want to ahead of myself. And two,” another finger joined the first, “I am just drunk enough to start expounding on how much I really, _really_ like sleeping with her.”

“Okay, I’m kind of a pervert, but I do not want to know how good my sister is in bed, or how much you want to get her there,” she snorted. “And just remember, I can toast your butt if I have to, Red.”

“I’d like to see you try!”

They both remained firmly horizontal. Imoen reached over and drunkenly patted his hand. “You know, I think you may be the one person in the Realms who loves her more than I do. That’s good. I wouldn’t want anything less for her.”

“Thank you, Imoen.” Kelsey, feeling his eyes go a little misty, suddenly laughed. “We are a lousy pair of sloppy drunks, you realize that?”

“And when it starts getting maudlin, it’s time to pack it in!” Imoen cautiously rolled and climbed to her feet, swaying slightly. She held out a hand to help him up. “Tell you what. I’ll speak your language so you know I mean it. You keep being good to her, and I won’t blow you up. Deal?”

“Deal."

* * *

 

When Maera woke the next morning, she wasn’t entirely sure how she had ended up in bed, nor why Kelsey, who snored beside her, was fully clothed and smelled of beer. She trusted that answers would be forthcoming. And she was right to do so, because as soon as he came to himself and realized both his state of dress and the state of his head, he explained all.

“It was fun,” he said, absently smoothing his robe in a vain attempt to make himself more presentable. “I feel like we finally, really got to know each other. And I’m really glad, because she is your sister, and that’s important, and…” He patted at his pockets and his expression soured. “And she stole my journal. That dirty little sneak.”

Maera patted him on the shoulder in commiseration. “Welcome to the world of Imoen’s friendship, honey.”

Both the thief and the purloined item in question were in the common room, where Imoen lounged with her feet propped up on a table, much to the quiet disgust of the innkeeper. “Heya, Mae!” she hailed cheerfully as Maera and Kelsey entered. “Red.”

“May I have my journal back, Imoen?” he asked.

Imoen did not acknowledge him, but said to Maera, “Mae, I hate to break it to you, but this guy? Complete pervert.”

“Really.” Maera’s face was so neutral as to have been beige.

“Really! I borrow his journal for research purposes,” - Kelsey snorted – “and I discover he’s been writing his own personal pornography! He’s been taking lascivious notes about you from day one! There is not a part of your anatomy he has not drooled over in prose!”

Maera cast Kelsey a speculative look. “I am suddenly deeply fascinated by the contents of this journal, Master Coltrane.”

He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. “I can arrange a private reading, if you like.”

Imoen turned green. “Ew.”

“You steal someone’s journal, you’re bound to find out things you didn’t want to know,” Kelsey said.

“Borrowed!”

“Borrowing implies asking. You didn’t ask!”

“Borrowing implies that the item will be returned. I’m returning it!” She threw the notebook straight at Kelsey’s head, and he caught it an inch from his nose.

“Oh, I get it. This isn’t the start of a beautiful friendship, this is ritual abuse!”

“Can’t it be both?”

Kelsey’s reply was cut short by a sound from his side that neither he nor Imoen had heard in some time. A warm, rich laugh filled the room, a sound of genuine and heartfelt merriment. Holding her sides, tears of mirth in her eyes, Maera was laughing. Imoen and Kelsey shot each other puzzled looks as she leaned against the wall, wiping fruitlessly at her cheeks. She continued for some minutes, gasping to regain her voice, and when she had finally subsided to a hiccupy giggle, she said, “I’m really glad you two are friends now.”


	19. The Exile's Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"All these years, and the memory still burns."_

Minsc took the lead as they departed Imnesvale, for their path back to Elhan’s outpost followed few roads. Though it was not easy going, Maera felt a peace of mind she not known in some time. With the Rhynn Lanthorn in hand, she could move forward again. No more chasing. Irenicus was within reach, and she was bringing the fight to him. The pieces were aligning to move into check, and she almost felt like she had an idea of how the board was arranged. It made a nice change.

Something else had changed, as well. The quiet, humming tension that had lurked between them all seemed washed away now. Behind her, Jaheira and Kelsey were comparing their knowledge of Tethyr (“Oh, I haven’t been there in years.” “I imagine you have been there more recently than I.”), with Imoen making the occasional unhelpful comment. Kelsey spotted her looking over her shoulder at them, and smiled; she smiled back, and nearly tripped over a root in doing so. Imoen wasted no time in abusing her for it.

“You know, Mae, he looks the same today as he did yesterday. No point in twisting your ankle just because you have to check.” And despite her reddened face and slightly abraded pride, Maera had to laugh.

The other subtle change presented itself that evening as they made camp by a small winding steam. Entirely without discussion, she and Kelsey placed their packs and blankets in a single tent, and it struck her that, at some point she could not exactly name, they had Become Official. Wasn’t there supposed to be a talk that went with that? How had they managed to pass that milestone without even noticing? But then, it didn't seem there was a single thing yet they had managed to do the normal way. Thus far, every occasion of import between them had come at an unexpected time and place, marked more by some unspoken understanding of its rightness, rather than any external marker. And as she drew her honing steel down Daystar’s blade that evening, she realized she was all right with that.

He sat near her, writing in his journal once more, though she caught him watching her a few times (probably not as often as he caught her doing the same, however). Minsc hummed tunelessly to himself as he buffed his breastplate, and Jaheira sat close to the fire, mending a shirt. Maera smiled. How ridiculously domestic.

It was almost perfect.

Imoen was sketching a pattern of lines in the dirt near the fire with a stick, and glanced up with a glint in her eye. “Hey Kels,” she said, “wanna let me kick your butt at checkers?”

Kelsey’s eyebrows went up. “You’re awfully sure you can. You know what they say about assuming, Imoen.”

“That it’s actually an elvish homonym for ‘Imoen’s gonna win’?”

Kelsey pursed his lips, shot a quick look at Maera, then shook his head. “Okay, I can’t beat that. But…” He pocketed his journal, and seated himself on the challenger’s side of Imoen’s makeshift checkers board. “I will beat you at this.”

Imoen cackled dramatically and moved her first piece. Maera watched them for a moment, wondering why her vision seemed blurry. She looked towards Jaheira, who had stopped mid stitch, the shirt in her lap seemingly forgotten. Oh good. She wasn’t the only one with tears in her eyes.

* * *

 

Kelsey’s eyes snapped open the next morning. A vision filled his mind, an image of such perfect clarity he could see it as though it were right before his eyes. Maera was still asleep, curled on her side with an arm draped across his chest, and under any other circumstance, he would have taken a moment to enjoy that, but the vision pressed at the fore of his brain, clambering and insistent. His hands tingled in an odd, familiar way as he worked his way out from under Maera’s arm and hastily dressed.

Jaheira was up, having had the last watch, and greeted him as he exited the tent, but his reply was distracted at best. He looked about their campsite searchingly. Someplace that wasn’t flammable. Non-flammable was very important. His eyes lit on a small outcropping of slate overhanging the creek. Perfect. He hurried to the rock, closed his eyes, and let the vision become reality.

A perfect circle of fire surrounded him, a wall of flame several inches thick and at least six feet in diameter. Within, the air was still cool and fresh, but he could see the grass on the edges of the rock withering before the heat. He noticed Jaheira watching, a hand on her hip, head cocked. “A new spell, I take it?” she asked.

He nodded with a grin. “Yeah, it just…came to me.”

“I can see a distinct defensive advantage in its use.”

He was about to agree when Minsc pushed his way out of his tent. The ranger straightened with a huge yawn, but then his eyes focused on Kelsey, and widened with horror. “Boo!” he cried, addressing the hamster on his shoulder, “Kelsey is on fire!”

Jaheira threw out a hand, catching Minsc across the chest as he started forward. “He is fine, Minsc. It is a new spell; he is quite all right, I assure you.”

“Oh.” He looked back at Boo. “Jaheira says he is fine. _You_ panicked.”

“Wow, Red,” Imoen said from the open flap of her tent. She rubbed her eyes. “I’m guessing you’re a morning person.”

Kelsey thought about retorting, but settled for shaking his head with a chuckle. Confident now in his control of the flames, he was about to let them die when he saw Maera exit their tent. Her cross expression faded as she caught sight of him, her mouth opening slightly in surprise.

“So can you control the height, too?” Imoen snooped about the heat perimeter, looking almost disturbingly intrigued.

“Um…I think so.” He closed his eyes again, concentrating, and the fire responded, roaring up over his head. When he opened them, he saw Maera still watching him, biting her lip. She took a quick step back, and then sprinted towards him, passing through the fire in one long stride, and plowing into his arms with such force they nearly both went into the stream behind them.

“Hi,” she grinned, breathless.

“What did you do that for?” he demanded. “You could have hurt yourself!”

She looked about them, still pressed against him, eyes bright with wonder. “Maybe. Worth it for the view, though."

That errant strand of hair at her forehead was in her eyes again, and as he brushed it slowly back behind her ear, he realized that before he had met her, he would do everything he could to avoid casting in front of others unless it was absolutely necessary. _Now I don’t even think about it. Hell, now I do it to show off_. “You like?” he murmured.

“Very much.” Her smile was brilliant, and ever so slightly wicked. It reminded him of a honey-flavored kiss near the Trademeet fountain in the light of the setting sun; it was the smile he would have walked back through the Underdark ten times over for. He had missed that smile. His hands moved to cup her face. He hadn’t _planned_ on kissing her. It was just one those things that seemed to happen on its own. Her arms tightened around his waist, and for one radiant instant, all things in the planes were aligned in perfect harmony.

Jaheira coughed, loudly. “The sun is climbing,” she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. Kelsey tore his attention from Maera, whose face was such an appealing shade of pink it was all he could do not to kiss her again, and saw that Minsc and Imoen (the bearer of a pronounced smirk) were already striking their tents. He closed his eyes again, sheepish, and the fire dwindled away, leaving only a scorched ring on the slate.

As they departed the campsite, Imoen snickered at her sister. “You know, I’m glad we’ve got Kelsey around, Mae. Now _he’s_ the one who gets you in trouble.”

From farther up the line, Jaheira commented coolly, “That does not mean I do not have my eye on you, Imoen. Far from it.” Imoen made a face at her back. “And sticking out your tongue only dries it.”

* * *

 

They arrived at the elven outpost at dusk two days later, and Elhan himself was waiting for them. Obviously, their approach had been noticed and anticipated. The general’s expression was tense, and it was clearly taking every bit of civility he possessed not to demand they empty every pocket and pouch as soon as they were within ten paces. Maera almost smiled at his anxiety, but didn’t, because she knew that, in truth, it was no laughing matter. This was business.

Jaheira reached into her pack and presented Elhan with the small lantern, wrapped in a soft cloth. He turned the Rhynn Lanthorn over in his hands, his touch gentle and reverent. “Not a scratch,” he breathed. “Maybe some part of her could not bear to harm it, even after all this time. Maybe she still…” He shook his head. “The past is done. She made her choices.” He glanced at them sharply, a soldier once more. “And she _is_ dead?”

“Well and truly,” Maera replied. The general nodded.

“Good.” Elhan spoke over his shoulder to his aide, his Elvish almost too quick for Maera to keep up with. In the tradition of library brats everywhere, she could read it far better than she could speak it. “Alert the troops. We move out at dawn. But leave a rear guard on the cave.”

“Have there been any further drow attacks since our departure, General?” Jaheira asked.

“No, there have not,” he said, switching back to Common. “It isn’t that I don’t trust your word regarding the state you left them in. Call it…an excess of caution.” He looked down at the Lanthorn. “But they won’t have to remain for long. This will lead us all home.”

* * *

 

Unerring as a compass, the Lanthorn pointed the way through the tangled woods of north Tethyr, and Elhan made no apologies for the pace they kept. Maera could respect his sense of urgency; she knew all too well the feeling that time and distance were conspiring to prevent intervention. It would seem she and the general had that in common, so there would be no complaints from her quarter. Ultimately, it was a day and a half’s hard march to the place where Suldanessellar should have been, and Elhan called a halt as they neared the invisible location of the city’s main gate. The general walked forward slowly, hands extended, and stopped as the Lanthorn’s light fell across the grass. Like the popping of a soap bubble, the gate was there.

Not so long ago, it had been a beautiful, imposing structure, wrought from brushed copper and polished wood. Now one half swung drunkenly from its topmost hinge, and the other lay in smashed pieces on the ground. Beyond the ruined gate was a paved platform, from which curved walkways wrapped themselves along the towering trees, leading to the shops and homes of the people of Suldanessellar. The illusion broken, they could smell smoke and sulfur. Elhan’s face whitened. “By Rillifane,” he whispered. “What has he done here?” He squared his shoulders, taking obvious refuge in his training, and addressed the assembled elven soldiers. “We need intelligence. We have to know what’s going on here in the city.” He began to tick off items on his fingers. “We need to determine the strength of the enemy’s forces, we need know the position and condition of our own troops, we need to find and protect the civilians, and we have to discover what has happened to the Queen and the Whiteleaf. We will establish a defensive position here at the gate. From here, we will make sorties into the city to achieve those goals.” He turned to the adventurers. “Maera, I trust that I can rely upon the continued aid of your party.”

"Of course, General. The city has to be secured, and you definitely know about how to do that better than I do."

The general allowed himself a small smile in the manner of one indulging in just one candy. "Even so, it is...comforting to know that our goals continue to coincide."

Maera looked around, at the sunlight cutting feebly through the smoky, yellowed air, at the elven soldiers hauling parts of the broken gate forward to form the beginnings of a barricade. "I'm sorry if I gave you cause to believe that they wouldn't. General; I _do_ want Irenicus. I want back what's mine. And I want to be the one who sees to it that he pays for it. But this..." She gestured around them with a shake of her head. "I don't know why he hates you and your people, but I'd say this is pretty much the classical definition of a disproportionate response."

"Indeed," Elhan murmured. His expression hardened, and a snap of his fingers brought an aide trotting over with a map of the city, affixed to a bit of board. "Head north," he said. "We will likely have to take this city back one house at a time."

* * *

 

Maera wiped the blood off her sword and nudged the drow corpse at her feet. This was the third empty house they’d found in two hours, with no sign of the inhabitants but bloodstains. They had found a small clutch of survivors in another home earlier (there had been children among them, a fact that both enraged and comforted her), and directed them to Elhan’s fortification at the gate. But her mood was black as, after searching the house and finding it devoid of friendly life, they pushed onward.

Even fighting in the daylight with ordinary steel weapons, the drow had left little in their wake but horrors. It was obvious the elven troops trapped by the illusion had faced brutal opposition, evidenced by the bodies and discarded arms. Imoen pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as they rounded a bend and found themselves faced with the days-old aftermath of a clash between the city guard and the invaders. "Gods," she whispered, "why has he done this?"

If only they had gotten there sooner, Maera thought. Just a few days earlier...it might not have changed much, but maybe they could have saved _these_ unfortunates...

Jaheira shook her head, her expression cold and hard as naked steel in a blizzard. "Life has no meaning to him. None."

Just a few days earlier... Maera felt Kelsey watching her, and she realized they were thinking the same thing. Had the trip to Imnesvale been justified? Had his life been worth it?

She remembered Jaheira's words in Bodhi's crypt: _You should fear no one's approbation._ She couldn't agonize over the reasoning behind every decision. She couldn't second guess her every choice. Madness lay down that road, fueled by grief and anguish and the knowledge that she could never do enough.

It had to have been. It had to have been worth it, or nothing was.

She nodded, holding his gaze. _Yes_ , she mouthed.

He looked to the side, unconvinced, a wash of guilt suffusing his features and she stepped close to him, gripping his shoulder, her voice lowered for his ears only. "I'm the one who chose to go to Imnesvale, Kelsey. It was my decision. And if any judgment for that choice is going to fall on anyone, it will be me. Don't you _dare_ blame yourself."

He glanced at her sidelong. "It's not that easy."

"I know it's not."

He covered her hand with his, a ragged smile trying to tug at his lips. "Thank you."

She nodded again, and stepped away. There was no time to say more, and nothing to be gained in lingering, so they continued on, around the curve of the house. A soft, wooden creak, an unsurprising sound in a city of tree limbs, met their ears after a few paces, then the twang of a bowstring, and an arrow grazed across the top of Maera's shoulder, nicking the leather of her jerkin. "Hey!" she protested.

“They’re not drow!” exclaimed a frightened male voice in Elvish.

“What was your first clue?” snapped Kelsey in kind, his right hand raised. Imoen, a half pace to his left, drew her own bow.

Jaheira lowered her staff and raised her free hand in a placating gesture. “We are here with General Elhan," she said, also in Elvish, the smoothness of her accent betraying the noble origins she never liked to talk about. "The illusion is broken, and we are here to help."

A trio of young elves stepped from the darkness of a half-collapsed portico. The two young males wore mages’ robes, and the female toying nervously with her bowstring wore a sword at her hip. Maera’s heart ached for them – in elvish terms, they were barely past adolescence, green and out of their depth. But they were still alive, and that had to count for something.

“The illusion’s broken? The General’s here?” The dark haired mage who had spoken before closed his eyes in profound relief. He stared up at Minsc, who smiled the genial, non-threatening smile of the very large. “But you’re humans!” Catching a closer look at Jaheira’s face, he flushed. “Most of you.”

“We’re here for the cause of this,” Maera said. She tried not to sigh as she spoke. She knew she shouldn't compare her accent to Jaheira's, but she couldn't help it. “The mage, Irenicus. Your people call him The Exile, though no one will tell me why.”

The other mage, taller and fairer than his friend, shrugged. “I don’t know the whole story. That was before our time.” He indicated the female archer. “This is Naren. I’m Velkin, and this is Madeth.”

“Well, if you can’t answer that question," Maera said, "you can at least tell us what’s been going on here.”

They ducked into the empty house, and the three young soldiers sank to the floor as one. “We’ve been hiding for three days,” said Madeth glumly.

"We haven't really rested all that much," Velkin added, rubbing his face.

"Or eaten." Naren was still plucking her bowstring.

“Everyone else in our unit is dead," Madeth continued. "There are still people holed up in their homes, but we didn’t want to endanger them by trying to seek them out. So we don’t really know what’s going on. We’ve just been trying to stay alive; avoid the drow patrols and the golems.”

Imoen paled. “Golems?”

Madeth nodded. “Clay ones, mostly, but we’ve seen some stone ones too.”

“Tell them about the rakshasa,” Naren murmured, nudging him.

"Oh yeah…”

“Of course!” Maera exclaimed in Common, too thunderstruck by her sudden epiphany to remember not to. “He didn’t make the illusion himself, he contracted it out!” Realizing she’d interrupted, she cleared her throat and subsided. “Sorry. Go on.”

“We were near the temple two nights ago. There were rakshasa guards outside…apparently the Exile’s given it to them since the drow got done with it. They have some kind of holy day coming up in another day or so, and it sounded like they’re planning to sacrifice Whiteleaf Demin!”

This was met with a universally blank look. “Who’s that?” Kelsey asked.

“The high priestess of Rillifane’s temple!” Velkin supplied in frustration.

 _That_ got the desired reaction. An exclamation of shock rippled through the group. Maera felt ill. “Sacrificing a priestess in her own temple?"

Jaheira looked equally repulsed. "First he lets the drow desecrate it, and now this?"

“But she’s still alive now!” Naren said. “There’s still a chance to save her. And I know we can’t, but maybe you can! And if you do that, then retaking the temple will be the next step, and from there, we’ll be in a position to move on the palace. We’ll be able to save the Queen and the Tree!”

The adventurers were back to blank stares. “The Tree of Life?” Velkin offered. They shook their heads. He looked at Jaheira. “Lady, even you don’t know?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Assume my knowledge is no greater than a human’s.”

The three elves exchanged glances, and Madeth sighed, having seemingly been elected spokesman by some sort of silent vote. “The Tree was planted by Rillifane himself. It is the center of Suldanessellar. The city and the Heartwoods would cease to exist if something happened to it. It…it _is_ the city.”

“And Queen Ellesime is Rillifane’s child,” Velkin added. “Her bloodline is tied to the Tree, and vice versa. They are the living embodiment of the Leaflord’s blessing, and without them…”

Cold certainty washed over Maera. “He means to utterly destroy this city. Tear it apart from the inside out.” She fought off the shiver that arced down her spine, and shook her head. “You three should head back to the south gate and report in to your general. I’m sure he’ll be even more interested in what you’ve learned than we are.” She looked at her group. “And I guess the five of us will go find this priestess of yours.”

They had just departed the house when they all got the distinct sensation they were being watched. In a second, they knew why. It was a testament to the robustness of elvish construction that, despite its delicate appearance, the tree-climbing walkway barely shuddered under the golem’s weight. They scarcely had time to notice the lumbering creature before it was upon them, ten feet of baked clay in the rough shape of a man, before the glowing eyes lit on Maera, and the massive fist swung down. She dove out the way, scrambling to get her feet back under her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kelsey raise his hands – there was a crack, the grinding sound of ceramic sliding against itself, and dust rained lightly down upon her.

“Kelsey,” Imoen said, expressionless, “you just blew up a golem.”

He was more than a little surprised himself. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Boo likes the lightning the best,” said Minsc, not to be left out.

Kelsey’s lightning had struck the golem directly in the chest with such force it had cracked cleanly all the way through. The construct now lay in several shattered chunks before them. Velkin and Madeth stared in awe, then bolted towards Kelsey, voices overlapping in excitement. “Was that sorcery?” “That was amazing!”

Jaheira firmly interjected her staff between the oncoming mages and the sorcerer. “He is not a circus attraction!” Kelsey looked relieved at her intervention, his flushed face caught between pride and embarrassment.

Maera couldn’t help but smile as she pushed herself to her feet. She bumped him with her shoulder as she moved back to the head of the line, murmuring, “I’ll thank you later.” His eyes widened ever so slightly, and in them, she could see his sense of propriety go to sudden war with the reply he obviously wanted to make. _Sometimes_ , she thought as she brushed golem dust from her jerkin, _you have to make your own reasons to smile._

* * *

 

The three young soldiers directed them towards the priestess Demin's house, it being the most logical location to begin a search for her. After sending the trio back to the gate, the adventurers continued through the battered city. The sound of violence rose from the west – Elhan’s reinforcements clashing with Irenicus’s invaders. Maera silently wished them good fortune.

Demin’s house was a smallish dwelling in the shadow of Rillifane’s temple, which was located a level above, nearer the tree crown. A pair of rakshasa, clad in scarlet silk stiff with embroidery, kept an indolent guard at the priestess’s door. They appeared bored and languorous, but the twitch of the tiger-men’s tails betrayed their watchfulness. “There’s not going to be much surprising them,” Maera murmured as they peeked around a corner.

“They’re pretty resistant to magic, aren’t they?” Kelsey asked, nervously clenching his fist around a sling bullet.

“From what I know about them, yes. But there’s more than one kind of magic…” Maera glanced at Jaheira, and the druid smiled.

Even the sharp ears of the rakshasa could not hear her whispered invocation. And at first, they did not notice the slowly shifting foliage around them. But all at once, the vines burst forth, engulfing them in a tide of thick stems strong as steel and leaves the size of dinner plates. They hissed and swore in their own language, unable to free themselves as Maera and Minsc descended on them.

“They probably heard that inside, Minsc,” Maera said, giving the corpse at her feet one last poke. “Would you be so kind as to let us in?” The ranger, who had never met a door that didn’t need kicking down, happily obliged her.

A single female rakshasa, saber drawn, was on the stairs before them. Maera heard Imoen’s bow creak, and ducked as her sister’s shot caught the creature in the throat. But she was only the first; more were hard on her heels, and Maera lunged for the one whose furred hands moved in arcane gestures, slicing low across its abdomen. Behind her, she heard Imoen chant the slippery words of a spell, and anything went blue for a moment as the protective shield she’d created sprang into being around them. Minsc grabbed one of the tiger-men by the ankle, wrenching him over the banister with a snap of bone, and clearing a path for Maera to dash up the stairs.

There was a single room at the top of the stairway; apparently her holiness the Whiteleaf had no need for showy quarters. The door stood open, and an elven woman sat on the floor, chained to the foot of the bed, her face watchful at the sound of combat below. She had obviously been in that state for several days, and her captors had clearly seen no need to let her wash in that time. A yellowing bruise marked her long oval face from temple to jaw, but general dishevelment seemed to be the worst of Demin the Whiteleaf’s suffering. Her dark green eyes were calm and steady, and they measured Maera as sharply as if she were the one doing the rescuing. “I do not know you,” she said. “Dare I hope that General Elhan has returned to us and you have come in his train, or are you some worse fate descending in our hour of weakness?” She tilted her head and added, "That’s a lovely sword. I’d hate for you to notch the blade trying to cut these chains, so if you don’t have the key, I wouldn't bother.”

The sound of fighting from downstairs had diminished, and Maera sheathed her sword. “I and my party are here with the General, yes,” Maera replied. “My name is Maera.”

“Forgive me for stating the obvious, but you are human. How have you come here, and for what purpose?”

“I am here for Jon Irenicus. Your Exile has something of mine.”

The priestess tensed and caught her breath. “What did he do to you?” she whispered, as though dreading the answer.

There were booted feet on the stairs, Minsc’s heavy step almost drowning out the others. Maera watched Demin carefully as she answered. Finally, someone who could tell her something. _Someone who had better,_ hissed a tiny part of her mind. “He created a ritual to remove my soul and transfer it into him. Whatever his reasons for attacking this city, he’s doing it with strength he stole from me.“

Demin closed her eyes, and pressed her mouth to one balled fist. “Merciful gods.” Her face paled and the great jaundiced bruise stood out all the more terribly for her pallor. She looked up as the rest of the party entered the room.

“Oh!” Imoen said brightly, swinging a key on the end of her index finger. “I bet that’s what this opens!” She unlocked Demin’s chains, and the priestess pulled herself to her feet, stretching her shoulders and rubbing her wrists, still stunned from Maera’s words.

“Whiteleaf Demin?” Maera asked softly. There was a buzzing in her brain, and if she did not keep her tone even, she could not be sure what she might do. “You know why he's doing this, don't you?" Demin nodded. "Then tell me: why do you call him the Exile?”

Demin gazed at the floor for a long, silent moment, then jerked her eyes up, forcing herself to look at Maera full in the face. She swallowed, licked her lips, started to speak, then said nothing. She repeated the sequence twice more before saying, “What I am about to tell you has never been shared with any outsider, and when I am done, I hope you will see why. The Exile, Irenicus you call him…his actions are a black mark on Suldanessellar, a source of deep, deep shame to us all.”

“Why do you say that?” Maera asked.

“Because he is – was – one of us.”

“He’s no elf!” Imoen scoffed.

“No. No, he’s not. Not now, anyway,” Demin said, sitting on the edge of her bed and making a vague ‘seat yourself’ gesture. “And I imagine his appearance has undergone some…modification in the intervening years. He was always fascinated by that.”

Kelsey’s brow furrowed as he settled onto the floor next to Maera. “How does one stop being an elf?”

Demin took a deep breath, and braced herself. “His soul was stripped from him.”

Maera was suddenly very glad she was already sitting. She felt as though she had been punched in the gut by a lead golem, leaving her stomach to drop through the floor beneath her. “Why?” she whispered.

“The Tree,” Demin said, her voice soft and utterly miserable. She coughed, and raised her voice to continue. “He and his sister were brilliant, you see. She was the researcher, and he was the visionary. They devoured knowledge…anything they could learn, they did.”

Maera wasn’t entirely sure where the problem with _that_ was. “’Wisdom is possessed only by the learned’,” she quoted.

Demin cocked an eyebrow. “An Oghmaite? Unusual, in your profession.” She shook her head, apparently regretful this was no time for a discussion of comparative religions. “I think even the most zealous of your faith would agree that there are boundaries one should not cross – means of obtaining knowledge that are ultimately more harmful than beneficial.” Maera shrugged and nodded. “It is one thing to desire to know the secrets of the planes, of life and death. It is another to seek that information at the expense of others.

“It started small. Strange books, delivered with the seals of the Zhentarim and the Red Wizards. Odd questions about non-divine means of restoring life. Rumors of live kobolds and goblins brought to the city, but none knew where they went or what happened to them. Then we discovered the humans.” Demin swallowed, her face twisted as if forcing down a bitter taste. “They had been _experimenting_ on them, torturing them, using their lives to power ritual spells." Imoen and Maera exchanged a chilled glance as Demin continued. "Ellesime, the Queen, was horrified, and many demanded their immediate exile from the city and the Heartwoods. But before she could make her final decision, they took the matter out of her hands.

“They stole into the palace one night, and attempted to bond themselves to the Tree of Life. If they had been successful, they would have usurped the divine link between us and our patron deity. They would have been like gods. Whether that had been the ultimate goal of their research all along or whether it came to them in the course of it, I do not know, but it was clear at that point that something more drastic than exile was called for.” The silence was absolute. Demin interlaced her fingers and heaved a huge breath. “The common citizenry was outraged. Elhan called for their execution, and his voice was seconded by the chief wizards, and the druids, who were particularly vociferous.” Jaheira chuckled humorlessly. “I had only recently been elevated to Whiteleaf, but ultimately the decision lay with the Queen.”

“Obviously she didn’t have them executed,” Kelsey said. “Why not?”

Demin’s eyes dropped, her pale, narrow face flushed. “All these years, and the memory still burns,” she muttered. “Ellesime loved him. She loved Joneleth, so very much, and it broke her heart to see that she had loved a façade. There was an entire world within him he had hidden from her. And yet, she could not kill him. She knew exile was no longer sufficient punishment, so she suggested we petition Rillifane; have the Leaflord remove their souls, the essence of their elvishness, and then exile them. She justified it saying it was a fate worse than death, but we all knew the truth. As Whiteleaf, I could have overridden her request. I could have refused her, could have thrown in my vote with the others.” Her voice trembled, and tears slid down her cheeks as she sucked in a breath. “But she is not just my Queen, and I do not simply revere her as the daughter of my god. She is my friend! And I could not bear to oppose her. I gave in; I went along with her ridiculous plan because I could not bear to hurt her more.” She laughed bitterly, wiping her eyes with shaking fingertips. “She loved him too much to put him to death, and I loved her too much to force her to.” She glanced up at Maera. “So it would seem, my young friend, that you are little more than an innocent in the path of the machine, brought to grief on wheels set in motion long before you were born.”

Maera found herself echoing Demin's humorless laugh. "That's basically the story of my life." She took a deep breath, still working her way through the information. She wasn’t angry, and that surprised her. Perhaps she would be later, but her first instinct was pity, and she wasn’t even sure why. Who had they been before, Irenicus and his sister? What had their aim been in their experiments, and how had they justified it to themselves? Was it mere vengeance that had turned them back on Suldanessellar, or something darker still?

And suddenly, the board was laid out before her, the position of every piece clear as day. It all made sense; Bodhi's capricious desire to hurt, and Irenicus's chill calm, both fueled by a rage almost too deep for expression. “He’s in the palace now. With the Queen,” she said. “All he's ever wanted, all these years, was a second chance at the Tree.”

Demin nodded. “He always was single-minded. He may very well be successful this time, and who knows what he could do with that kind of power.” She stood, and crossed the room to an armor rack, where an elegantly lacquered suit of mail hung. On the stand beside it was a beautifully turned wooden cudgel that seemed to glow faintly in the gloom of the corner. She lifted the weapon, and hefted it, calm and strength returning her face. “We must retake the Temple,” she said. “Reestablishing our link to our patron is paramount if we wish to assault the palace and destroy the Exile once and for all. We will remain here tonight and make our plans." She returned the cudgel to the rack, turning back to them, the iron returned to her eyes. No longer Demin the wounded and shamed, she was the Whiteleaf, highest priestess of Rillifane the Leaflord. "It is obvious there is much I need to know, Maera. Tell me everything."


	20. As the Oak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Perhaps I may survive this fool’s errand yet."_

“I almost feel sorry for them,” Imoen said. She spoke softly, to avoid waking Kelsey, who slept with his head in Maera’s lap.

“Almost,” Maera agreed, her eyes fixed on the fire.

“All those books…they weren’t from after Bodhi became a vampire. They were from before. She was a reader. She was trying to figure out the best way to deal with what happened to her. And she decided being a vampire was better.”

Maera gave her a look. “You know it’s not.”

“I know. But I think I do feel sorry for her. It’s like a little piece of her came back with my soul, and I feel like I know her, just a little.”

“That can’t be a pleasant acquaintance.”

“Well, no, not really. But it hurts so much to be empty. I mean, it’s not right, what they did to us, but…I dunno. Forget it. I’m rambling.”

“It does hurt,” Maera said. “But what happened to them was a punishment. They weren’t innocent bystanders minding their own business. You heard what Demin said. They were so obsessed with power they tried to usurp it from their own god. Then they spent years and years doing everything they could to circumvent the punishment they got for it. They stole from us to avoid the consequences of their own actions. What separates good from evil is how one reacts to one’s circumstances, and they did not react well.”

Imoen leaned her head on her sister’s shoulder. “Gods, you sound just like Gorion sometimes.” She sighed. “I’m gonna try to get some sleep. You should too.” She gave Maera a peck on the cheek, which was returned, and crossed the room to her bedroll.

They had spread out their bedrolls in Demin’s sitting room that night, scooting the broken furnishings against one wall. Maera had wanted to slip back out with Imoen and find Elhan, to let him know they had succeeded in freeing Demin, but the Whiteleaf had vetoed that idea. “You say he already knows that you have sought me, from those young soldiers you met. That will have to be sufficient. He will have enough concerns this evening with the drow. It is best that we leave him and his forces to liberating the city and aiding the civilians. If he is able to seek us out, so be it, but we will lay low for now.” More than once, Maera had been positive she had heard the sounds of combat, and her inability to intervene or even investigate chaffed, but Demin was right. Best to leave the military action to the professionals.

Minsc was already asleep, but it was his particular gift to sleep anywhere under any circumstance. Jaheira kept watch in the stairhall on the off chance the drow decided they wanted to finish the rakshasas’ work. Kelsey stirred as Imoen got up, eyelids fluttering. “Is it my watch?” he asked sleepily.

“No,” Maera murmured. “Just Imoen going to bed.”

“You should too.”

“You know, you call me boss, but you keep telling me what to do,” she said, smiling slightly.

He made show of patting his pockets, his eyes still closed. “Now, I know my Guardian of Maera’s Welfare badge is around here somewhere…”

“There’s a badge?”

“Oh, there was an entire accreditation process.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“It was worth it.”

She felt her smile broaden as she ran her fingers across his forehead and through his hair. He could always make her laugh. It was the times like this that she knew, on some level far deeper than conscious thought, that he had been right. This love she felt, born in that intense and immediate rapport they had formed that first sleepless night, was real. And for something so quick to bloom, she found that its roots ran deep. Deep enough that she knew there was nothing she would not do for him. “Kelsey,” she said, smile fading, “About earlier…you understand why I said that, right?”

He opened his eyes. “You always take everything on yourself,” he murmured.

“Sorry. It’s habit.”

“I know. I’m just pointing it out.” He sighed. “I think I’ll always wish it could have worked out differently, but…” He sighed again. “The thing is, I know you would made that same decision for Imoen, or Minsc, or Jaheira, because that’s just the person you are. I have never met someone who loves other people the way you do. It’s…amazing, and wonderful, and honestly kind of scary.” She blushed and chuckled, and he reached for her hand, tugging gently to plant a kiss on her knuckles. “All I wanted, the day I saw you on the Promenade, was to know who you were, and why you were there. I never imagined for a second the answer to that would bring me here.”

“You walked away from your life to come with me. You didn’t know anything about me, and you still did it.”

He raised a bleary eyebrow. “When you put it like that, it sounds crazy, instead of romantic, which is how I prefer to think of it.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, laughing softly. “You have to admit, it was kind of a gamble on your part.”

“It was, but… I may have walked away from my life, but I wasn’t doing anything with it. I was treading water, just getting by on the minimum amount of effort. You changed that. Before I met you, I was a merchant with a weird talent that I had spent nearly half my life hating. Wishing I could get rid of it somehow. But you took one look at me and told me it was a gift.”

“It is,” she said. “And you’ve made the best of it.”

He reached up, trailing his fingers along her cheek. “That’s why I like this life better than the one I left.” He tweaked the tip of her nose teasingly. “Now, are you going to go to bed? Your watch is after mine, you know.”

“I know that! I’m the one who assigned it, remember?” Her smiled faded as she rubbed her forehead. “I just can’t stop thinking about how close we are. We will finally be able to get our hands on Irenicus. And this time, he has nowhere left to go.”

Kelsey’s jaw tightened slightly, and he muttered hotly, “I will be _very_ glad to see that son of a bitch get his.” She blinked in surprise at the heat of his tone and he looked self-conscious. “What? I know I don’t swear that often, but…”

“No, it’s not that,” she said. “I guess…I didn’t realize you would feel as strongly about it as the rest of us.”

He sat up and faced her, looking faintly cross. “Well, no, I wasn’t in that dungeon with you the first time. I didn’t know Khalid and Dynaheir. So it’s not the same for me. But I did have to sit, in the dark, in Spellhold, and listen to you scream while he ripped the soul out of your body. He _hurt_ you, and it didn’t give him a second’s pause. He is a monster, Maera, and I don’t have to have personally lost something at his hands to know it.”

He had that look on his face again, his brow drawn and his jaw set, and she wondered if he even knew how strong he really was, and how much she had come to rely on that strength to bolster her own. “You’re right,” she said. “And thank you.” She leaned forward to kiss him, and was positive for a moment that it would remain a relatively chaste affair. But then his hand slipped beneath her hair to hold the back of her neck and his lips parted and she had him halfway to the floor before she remembered they were not alone.

Minsc was still asleep, and if Imoen, who lay on her side facing the wall, was not, she was choosing to save this moment for embarrassment ammunition at a later date. “So…” Maera said sheepishly, “sleep, huh?”

“Sleep,” Kelsey agreed. They shared a vaguely guilty grin, then settled onto their blankets. Morning always came more quickly than expected, and the next day promised to be eventful.

* * *

 

They had closed Demin’s door as best they could, but Minsc’s enthusiasm had left it loose on its hinges, with a long, wide crack down the middle. The wind whistled through it, and Maera sat in the dark entry hall, listening for any movement beyond. Suldanessellar had gone quiet in the waning hours of the night, and she could only hope that heralded at least partial success on Elhan’s part. But the drow were ones cut off now, with no hope of reinforcement. And Elhan’s troops, while not exactly fresh, had come for their homes and families, and they were angry. She smiled grimly to herself. Now that she thought about it, the elves’ odds were pretty good. As for herself, her next move had to wait until morning, and all she could do was listen. And about a half hour before the end of her watch, she heard something.

A light step sounded on the walk, and she tensed. Was it a drow scout, sent to check in on the supposedly captive priestess, or was it a local, drawn in the hope of finding friends? The unseen intruder pushed carefully at the door, and Maera pressed herself against the wall. As the door swung open far enough to allow for the sight of a slight, dark figure, Maera grabbed. A drow didn’t need gentle handling, and she could always apologize to a local.

The intruder stiffened as her hand connected, but made no effort to get free. Maera turned hard, slamming the figure into the far wall, her forearm across the throat, where the dim sitting room fire still cast enough light to reveal the face. Her jaw dropped. It was quite possibly the last face she had ever expected to see again.

“I am unarmed!” her captive cried in heavily accented Elvish, raising his hands as best he could in his awkward position.

Maera continued to gape, dumbstruck almost beyond speech. She had to work her jaw for nearly a solid minute before she could finally muster the one word left jangling through her shocked mind. “ _Solaufein_?”

The drow narrowed his red eyes in suspicious confusion. “How do you know me?”

“We’ve met before,” she said, dropping her hold and stepping back.

That only deepened his bewilderment. “I’m afraid I have made the acquaintance of very few humans.” He eyed her closely. “And I think I would remember you.”

“I didn’t look much like this at the time.”

“I still do not…” He swallowed, comprehension in his eyes as he stared up at her. “Veld… _Maera_?” He gulped again. “What you said before…that was no jest. You are _very_ different.” He continued to stare, but a slow smile began to cross his face. “But how fortunate; to meet you again, here and now. Perhaps I may survive this fool’s errand yet.”

A silvery light filled the stairhall, and a footstep creaked above them. Maera and Solaufein looked towards the steps, where Demin stood, barefoot and in her dressing robe, a small priest’s light bobbing in the air above her shoulder. Her long chestnut hair fell about her shoulders in soft waves, but there was nothing soft about her features as she took in the scene below her. “Maera,” the priestess said steadily, “I trust there is a reasonable explanation for this?”

Maera glanced at Solaufein, back at Demin, than back to Solaufein again. “Actually…” she said to the drow, “you might not.”

* * *

 

The Whiteleaf sat stiffly on the only unbroken chair in her sitting room, the gray light of the approaching daybreak emphasizing the paleness of her face. She stared in absolute silence at Solaufein, who returned the gaze coolly. His body language was carefully positioned for pacification, but he could not quite conceal the irritation in his eyes.

The adventurers stood on the uncomfortable fringes of this staring contest; Maera had done her best to explain the circumstances of her acquaintance with Solaufein, his role in preventing the demon’s summoning, even his nonstandard religious affiliation, but Demin continued to watch him as if certain he would transform into a million venomous spiders the second she looked away.

“Well,” Imoen muttered, crossing her arms, “this is awkward.”

Maera nodded her very deep agreement, and decided to try again. “Demin, doesn’t it mean _anything_ that I can vouch for him?”

Demin did not move, but her eyes cut towards Maera impatiently. “Yes, I am sure he is a veritable Drizzt Do’Urden.” Maera’s shoulders sagged with frustration, but the priestess cut off her intended reply with, “Frankly, Maera, I’m rather surprised that it did not even occur to you that I would find it suspicious that the _first_ drow to appear on my doorstep would just so happen to be a friend of yours. You failed to mention that your trip through the Underdark was actually some sort of goodwill embassage!”

“It was n-”

“Might I be permitted to speak on my own behalf?” Solaufein asked mildly. Demin’s eyes returned to his face with the force of a hammer, and whether he did not flinch because he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction, or because it genuinely did not bother him was anyone’s guess. “I did not know Maera and her party would be here, nor did I intend to seek them out. I came to here to see for myself what use Irenicus had put Ust Natha to. And to help stop it, if possible.”

“What do you care?” Demin snorted.

Solaufein’s mouth twisted, but his voice remained calm. “Because just as he seeks to destroy your city, he left mine to devour itself with empty promises of glory that he never cared to fulfill. We were tools to him, to be used and discarded.”

“Welcome to the club,” Maera murmured. He shot her a half-smile. Demin’s face, however, did not change.

“Ah. Driven by vengeance, then,” the Whiteleaf said. “At least you do not try to insult my intelligence by claiming some sort of moral epiphany.”

“Don’t mistake me,” Solaufein shot back, his voice rising slightly for the first time. “I never _liked_ Ust Natha. But it was my home, the only one I ever knew, so for that, I loved it.” His tone dropped once more. “And now I cannot go back.” Maera glanced at the floor, feeling inexplicably guilty.

Demin’s eyes returned to their long survey of Solaufein’s face, her expression inscrutable. The room was silent again, and then she stood suddenly. “You want to be of use? Very well. You can begin by atoning for the desecration done to the temple of _my_ god by _your_ kin. We have wasted enough time already on this foolishness. We must prepare for our assault, and if you are so very pliable, drow, then you will do exactly as you are told.” She turned for the door; Jaheira and Minsc silently stepped out of her way.

“Being ordered about by an ill-tempered priestess?” Solaufein muttered under his breath. “That will be an _entirely_ new experience for me.” Demin stopped halfway, her already stiff shoulders tightening as she sucked in an angry breath. She thought better of it, and departed without reply.

A collective sigh of relief passed through the party, and Maera shook her head with a chuckle. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

Solaufein shrugged carelessly, but his expression was considerably lighter. “It’s a failing.”

She shook her head again. “So are you all right?”

Kelsey stood against the wall, watching as Solaufein nodded the affirmative, and replied, though he did not particularly care to hear what the drow had to say. Imoen edged up beside him, and poked him in the shoulder. “What’s up with the face?” she asked quietly.

“There is nothing up with my face.”

“Liar.” She followed his gaze, across the room to Maera and Solaufein, then looked back at him sharply. “It’s Solaufein! You’ve got your undies in a bunch about Solaufein!”

“My underwear has nothing to do with it.”

“Liar _again_. C’mon, Kelsey,” she coaxed. “Let’s have it. Honesty’s good for the soul.”

He shrugged awkwardly, deciding to give the tilework an inspection. “You saw the way he looked at her in Ust Natha. You can’t tell me you didn’t.”

“Oh, _Kels_.” The deep disappointment in her voice made him look back at her. It was amazing how such a seemingly innocent face could rearrange itself into such a condescending expression. “You mean back when he thought she was a hot little drow number, and not six feet of scary blonde human?”

“I didn’t say it made _sense_ ,” Kelsey protested. “I know it’s stupid, I just-” She backhanded him across the shoulder. “Ow!” This was followed by another slap, this time with her palm. “OW!” He gripped his shoulder defensively. “What was that for?”

“You’re right – it is stupid. I’m just reinforcing the point.” He was about to retort he didn’t need bruises to know that when they both realized they were being watched.

Maera’s eyebrows were up. “So is there a _good_ explanation, you two, or just one that’s going to give me a headache?”

“Don’t you worry, Mae,” Imoen beamed innocently. “I’m not aiming for the face. I’ll keep him pretty for you.”

Maera’s mouth opened, and then closed again. “That’s…not at all what I asked, Im, but…thank you?” Forestalling her sister’s bright and completely insincere reply, she said, “Anyway…Demin’s right. We need to get moving. Jaheira, will you go upstairs and make sure her head hasn’t exploded? The rest of us will finish getting ready.”

* * *

 

Demin reappeared a quarter hour later, armed and armored, her hair braided tightly out of her face. She wordlessly directed them along a narrow, climbing walkway, her face set and her green eyes grim. Minsc, as usual in these situations, brought up the back of the line (who better to fend off rear attack than the one with the steel backplate?), with Kelsey, Imoen, and now Solaufein, armed with a rakshasa's abandoned scimitar, walking just ahead of him. There was a distinct aura of tension floating forward from the trio, which met the cold front of Demin’s disapproval right over Maera’s head. She sighed. So much for the general sensation of peace and goodwill.

The city was quiet that morning, as the daybreak peered cautiously through the tree branches. Maera fell into step with Jaheira, and said in a lowered voice, “I hope I didn’t make a mistake.”

“You are referring to Solaufein?” Maera nodded, and Jaheira gave her a measuring look. “You had more opportunity to know him in Ust Natha than any of us, and I trust your judgment of him.”

“I hope Demin can.” Maera looked over the railing glumly. The Whiteleaf had every right to distrust Solaufein, and by extension, Maera. After all, hadn’t she lately had her every worst opinion of the drow justified? Their ascent towards the tree crown spread the layered city out below them in a tableau of half-demolished buildings, scarred tree branches, and broken bodies. It should have been beautiful, and from certain angles, it still was, but looking down at the destruction for too long kindled an all-too familiar anger in her heart. All this carefully orchestrated devastation, years in the making, and for what?

“I dare not speak for her,” Jaheira replied, interrupting her thoughts. “But I do believe she is more than wise enough to set aside her animosity for the work at hand.”

The walkway they had followed led to a rear entrance of the temple, a modest doorway half shadowed by an overhang of vines. “This is the acolytes’ entrance,” Demin said softly.

“No guards,” Maera noted.

“That is either a very good sign, or very bad,” the priestess replied. She carefully opened the door, leading the way down the darkened hallway. Demin carried herself with the wary pessimism of one who had planned for the worst and was prepared to beat it thoroughly when she encountered it. Maera wondered idly if she had been an adventurer at some point in her long life.

They entered a wrecked storage antechamber, and the priestess sighed heavily at the damage. A cabinet of wall hangings had been smashed open, the textiles within shredded. Dusty bits of pottery and wood lay scattered across the floor. Minsc picked one up, and showed it mutely to Demin, who paled with anger. They were pieces of carved acorns, ritual objects that had been chopped, broken, and crushed. Maera’s stomach did a slow, quivery half turn on itself at the sight, and she covered her mouth. Imoen patted her back gently. “Breathe through your nose, Mae,” she murmured.

Demin took the acorn from Minsc, and clenched her fist around it. “Damn drow,” she said, her voice a trembling growl. “May their spider bitch give them exactly what they deserve.”

“She will,” Solaufein said.

She tilted her head, and for the first time, something other than distaste entered her features. “You are truly a follower of Eilistraee?” He nodded, and she extended her hand towards him, the broken acorn on her palm. “How does one live in that darkness, surrounded by those who would do _this_ for sport, and decide that it is wrong? Are you a deviant to them? A freak?”

Solaufein looked first at the acorn, then at Demin. “I am a heretic,” he replied quietly. “And how does one live here in this light, decide it is not enough, and seek to advance himself at the expense of his own god?”

Demin’s hand closed around the acorn once more, holding for a moment, and then tossing it hard away, the clatter of it striking the floor the only sound. “Fair enough,” she whispered. She turned towards the door on the opposite wall. “We have a ways yet to the sanctum. We cannot waste time.”

They followed her up a back corridor, but their progress was soon arrested by the sound of voices ahead, the hard Z’s and rolling R’s marking the speakers as drow. They quickly ducked into the nearest room, another small storeroom, this one scarcely larger than a closet, but Solaufein hovered near the partially closed door, listening. He suddenly snickered, and as one, the others shot him a hard look. “What’s so funny?” Maera hissed, speaking for them all.

“Apparently, the rakshasa abandoned the city in the night,” he replied in a whisper. “Their payment for the illusion was the sacrifice of the Whiteleaf, and when you laid waste to those plans yesterday, they decided to cut their losses. Those two gossips up ahead are quite put out about it.” He listened again, then began speaking along, translating. “They went to all that trouble, and then they run at the first sign of trouble.”

“And leave us like this! That Irenicus is a weird one, dealing with that sort,” commiserated the other, with unconscious irony.

“I know this is a great victory for us, but I’ll be honest…this place is creepy. All that _air_ up there, miles and miles of it…” The voices began to fade as the drow moved on, and Solaufein stopped speaking.

“Creepy?” Demin looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or be offended.

“Does the sky really bother you?” Imoen asked.

Solaufein shrugged self-consciously. “When you’ve spent your whole life with something over your head, it _is_ rather unnerving. And it’s very bright here. I’ve had a headache for days.”

The passage ended with another, more obviously public hallway. A short distance further, Demin pointed them to an inconspicuous, unmarked door. “That’s a shortcut,” she said. “It leads directly into the sanctum.”

Imoen peered through it carefully, and whispered her findings. “About a dozen drow in there. Warriors mostly, but there may be a couple of mages.”

“Less than two each,” Maera said thoughtfully. “Good odds.”

Demin bowed her head, a pale green glow surrounding her hand. “Be as the oak, my friends. Carry its strength with you.” She touched each of them on the forehead (or in Minsc’s case, the chin). She hesitated for a moment when she reached Solaufein, and he shifted his weight, as if to take a step back and relieve her of the embarrassment, but she set her jaw like one about to touch a hot iron. Her fingers made only the quickest contact, but it seemed to be enough. He gave her a small, brief smile of thanks, and she raised her eyes, almost returning it, then hefted her cudgel. “I only need to reach the altar. Keep them occupied for me.”

Maera nodded, then pointed at Kelsey and Imoen. “You know I hate to say this, but no fire, you two. Wooden temple, built out of trees. Bad idea.” Kelsey shrugged, but Imoen rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t tell you how swing your sword, do I?”

Maera gestured to Minsc. “You and me first, big guy. On the count of three. One…two…”

“THREE!” Minsc tore through the door, charging with a roar of gleeful exuberance, and she was hard on his heels. The best way to rush a roomful of startled, armed enemies, she reckoned, was from behind the enormous man in full plate.

After a morning of sneaking, it felt good to stretch. The altar was, of course, on the far side of the sanctum from their entrance, so they set about clearing Demin her path. Maera rammed into the first drow in her way shoulder first, forcing him off balance, but there was another to her immediate right, a female armed with a barbed flail. The points of the flail heads screeched on Daystar’s blade as she caught their descent. The weapon was imprecise; it relied on its size to deal damage, and without a shield, she knew she would have to end this quickly. The male she had knocked over came to his feet, sword low, but he wasn’t watching his back, and Jaheira’s staff swept his feet from under him once again. Maera turned her attention back to the flailwielder before her; she dodged another swing, and thrust Daystar right and up, the sharp tip biting through the thin links of the female’s armor under her arm.

To her left, she heard a hiss of surprised anger as Solaufein blocked the thrust of another female's sword. She spat something at him in Drow and he sneered as he caught her wrist with his off hand and brought it down over his knee with an audible crack. Her sword clattered to the floor, and she growled another harsh phrase, to which he responded in Elvish, “No. I am not,” and ran her through.

“RILLIFANE RALLATHIL!” Demin’s voice echoed above the steel and noise of battle. Maera yanked back her sword, leaving her opponent to crumple to the floor, and turned to see the priestess before the altar, arms spread wide, her holy symbol clutched in one hand. “Leaflord! Your children call to you in our hour of need! We beg of you! Aid us! Please.”

A great, rumbling, creaking groan, like the branches of a huge tree in a windstorm filled the sanctum. The surviving drow tried very hard to make themselves small as the air near the altar opposite Demin began to ripple and shimmer. A gust of air blew past them, oak leaves dancing within it, and the leaves gathered about the shimmering spot, coalescing into humanoid form. A voice, deep and ancient, echoing with the memory of so many sunrises the mortal mind could not comprehend them, filled the sanctum.

_**Demin. My child. Your absence had worried me.** _

The priestess lowered her arms and bowed her head, tears of relief sparkling in her eyes. “I am here now, my Lord.”

What has happened here, my child? Why is my temple defiled? Where is my daughter?

Demin swallowed hard. “My Lord…the Exile has returned. He has stolen the soul of another and means to finish the sacrilege he begun so many years ago.”

The sanctum was utterly silent, save for the faint whish of the leaves that made up the Leaflord’s shape. When he spoke again, the deity’s voice was soft and sad. _**We try to protect our children from their mistakes, yet make them they must, if they are to learn**_. Demin stared at the altar, face flushed and miserable. _**What soul has he stolen, my Demin? Whom has he wounded so grievously and selfishly?**_

“This human, my Lord. Maera,” Demin said, looking up and gesturing towards Maera. “She and her companions have come to reclaim it. In doing so, they have rendered us great aid.”

The head of the leaf shape swung towards Maera, and the wind rose suddenly. _**T**_ _ **he daughter of an old enemy stands before me.**_ Demin looked at her sharply, eyes questioning but Rillifane was still speaking. _**And yet I sense no malice within you.**_ The avatar looked past her to Imoen. _**And you as well. Two daughters of Bhaal, standing in defiance of your sire’s nature. Curious. But heartening. The Exile was cunning indeed to seek you out, and with your soul may work even greater harm than if he had stolen from one of more…mundane origins.**_

“That’s why I’m here, Leaflord,” Maera said. “Irenicus has used me to get his vengeance. I can’t allow him to do that.”

The deity considered her words, and then the leaves dipped once in a nod, before turning to face the surviving drow. _**I see he has loosed the drow upon my city.**_ The whirling leaves of Rillifane’s avatar had no eyes, but it was obvious they could feel his gaze. _**Flee, dark ones, and take your brethren with you. I will spare you, for you were but tools of a former child of mine. Know this, and be grateful for the mercy of the Oak.**_ The drow did not have to be told twice – they bolted as fast as their shaken legs would carry them, leaving their dead behind without a second glance. Solaufein slowly set his borrowed scimitar on the floor, and began edging towards the door, but the Leaflord spoke again. _**Save you, strange one.**_ There was something almost like wry chuckle in the avatar’s voice. _**You have brought me quite the motley band, my dearest**_ **,** he said to Demin. _**Bhaalspawn who seek goodness and a drow who loves my sister the Dark Maiden.**_ Demin’s eyes slipped towards Solaufein, slowly widening as the avatar spoke. Her mouth opened, but she obviously had no idea how to respond. Her god saved her the trouble by continuing soberly, _**Tell me. Where is the Exiled One? What must be done to thwart him?**_

“He is in the palace, my Lord,” Demin said, and dropped her gaze once more. “With Ellesime.”

Consideration weighed heavily in Rillifane’s silence. _**No doubt he intends to attempt his sacrilege once more. Maera, dear one, you have most pressing business with him, and I sense in you the strength to put an end to the matter. What need you to accomplish this?**_

Maera swallowed as the god’s attention rested on her. As she looked at the swirling leaf shape, the dancing green almost hypnotic, she thought about what she needed. She needed a hot bath and a pint of really good beer. She needed a few hours of uninterpreted privacy with Kelsey and a sturdy bed. She needed a good book, a change of clothes, and a nice long nap. But most of all, she needed back what she had lost, the piece of her Irenicus had taken. Like a missing tooth, it was notable only for its absence, and even if she had begun to learn to make do without it, she knew that was only a temporary solution. She needed this to be over. “All I need is to get into the palace, my Lord,” she said. “But…General Elhan and his troops have been fighting since yesterday to retake the city. I’m sure they could use a break.”

Rillifane’s avatar nodded once more. _**Easily done.**_ _ **The children of the forest shall repel the invaders and set them to flight. The grasp of the poor wretch who was once mine will be loosened. All that will remain will be your own work. Go then, young one. Take back what is yours.**_


	21. The Memory of the Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Why won’t you just DIE?”_

The palace was the only building in Suldanesellar at a higher elevation than the temple, cradled in the branches of Rillifane’s great Tree. This arboreal wonder was so vast none of them had really even noticed it thus far – its scale was such that the eye rejected it as a single entity, and chose to perceive it instead as multiple trees grown up together.

Demin led the way to the broad court platform that spread before the palace doors. There were benches, or rather smooth, shaped stretches of tree branch, scattered along the perimeter, and in more peaceful times, Maera could imagine it being a popular place to see and be seen, but now it was littered with debris, and marred with scorch marks. She looked about questioningly. The buzzing in her head was back, louder and more adamant than ever. It was as if her mind was reaching, stretching out desperately for the part that had been stolen. A tingling itch settled over her shoulders, and it was all she could do not to twitch them, like a flea-bitten dog. “What are we doing here, Demin?”

The Whiteleaf stood at the railing, staring down towards the rest of the city below. “We are waiting,” she said. “The Leaflord has promised the aid of the forest. This will be over soon, and Elhan will come.”

“Well…that’s all well and good, but what’s stopping _us_ from heading on into the palace and taking care of Irenicus?”

“Maera.” Demin turned, her face serene. The encounter with her god’s avatar had obviously soothed the priestess’s nerves. _How nice for her,_ Maera thought waspishly. “I do not doubt your strength, nor that of your companions. But I would not have you rush headlong into an encounter with the Exile, not until we know the city is secure.”

“Do I need to remind you that he’s in there with your Queen?” Maera jerked her thumb over her should, barely keeping her words from becoming a snap of anger. “Your _friend?_ ”

“No, you do not,” Demin responded coolly. “But we must have faith that we will be given enough time.” She turned back to the railing, having given her last word on the subject. Maera heaved a sigh.

She closed her eyes, trying to convince the tension in her chest to ease, but she could not stop herself from gnawing anxiously on her thumb. She knew Demin was right. There was far more at issue than her own vengeance. The Leaflord had given her sanction to pursue Irenicus, but not just for herself. She was standing for the people of Suldanessellar now, and for their sake, she would have to wait. She hated waiting.

She felt a hand rest gently on her fist and opened her eyes, prepared to growl. But it was Kelsey who stood before her, and he raised his other hand to touch her face. “It’ll be okay,” he said softly.

She sighed again, and stepped close enough to rest her head against his. He released her hand, sliding his up her arm, pulling her close to him. “We are so close,” she whispered. “I can _feel_ him, Kelsey.”

“I know. Just a little longer,” he said. She tried her breathing exercises again, letting his familiar scent anchor her to reality. Whatever divine process had brought her into being, she was still human, and the world still made the most sense when understood through her five meager senses. Like smell, and touch.

He had pen calluses on his thumb, and the interior edge of his middle finger. She could feel them as he idly stroked her cheek, and she clung to the sensation. “I love you,” she breathed. She felt him smile.

“I love you too.” The smile slid away as he turned his head slightly to meet her eyes. "Whatever happens...please remember that."

She shook her head, never looking away from his eyes. "No," she said. "We're both still gonna be here when this is over, so you can tell me that again then."

He turned his head again, kissing first her cheek, and then her earlobe. "You got it, boss," he murmured. She smiled, and for a moment far too brief for her liking, nothing else mattered but the two of them.

A low rumble rose from the levels below, and they stepped apart. Imoen rushed to the railing beside Demin and clambered up it, leaning as far over it as she could manage. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “Is that a treant?” The Whiteleaf smiled.

“The Oak provides.”

Nearer the palace doors, Jaheira had taken it on herself to attempt to tidy the platform, pushing the broken branches and other detritus into a heap. Minsc was proudly helping, using a discarded shield as an oversized makeshift dustpan. Maera smiled as she noticed them, and gave Kelsey’s hand a squeeze before walking towards them, intent on helping as well. Perhaps action would make the wait more bearable. But halfway there, she noticed Solaufein sitting in thoughtful solitude on one of the benches. She had just decided to leave him to his thoughts and keep walking when he spoke. “So it was him.”

She paused, and felt herself coloring. Her embarrassment was apparently evident; he stood, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “My apologies. I should have phrased that differently.” He looked up at her, squinting in spite of the cloud cover over the sun. “I begrudge you nothing, Maera. You have done me no injury. What occurred in Ust Natha…” He swallowed, and looked to the side. “I admire you greatly, and I see no need to make a secret of that. And when we first met, that admiration might have…” He glanced back up at her, a vaguely sardonic smile playing across his face. “I suppose it is fortunate that Veldrin did not truly exist.”

She looked at him with a blink of confusion. “Veldrin was me. I wasn’t…I wasn’t putting on an act. Not much of one, anyway. The only difference was…” Understanding brought another, fainter blush. “The illusion.”

He chuckled wryly. “You are very tall. I don’t think I could get used to it.” She joined him in the laugh, and his smile grew unexpectedly gentle. It was a strange expression to see on a drow face, but it suited him. “He makes you happy.”

She nodded. “Yeah, he does.”

“You deserve that.” He looked towards the palace. “Great things rest on you. You should take whatever joy you can from your life.”

“Everyone should,” she said. “Including you.”

His smile slid from gentleness to one of familiar irony. “And perhaps I will. In time.”

Kelsey sat on one of the benches, not far from where Demin and Imoen looked down into the city. The faint sound of combat drifted upwards toward them, and he took a deep breath. He had discovered early in life that much of one’s time in the mortal realm was spent waiting for one thing or another, and even adventuring, that most exciting and action-filled of professions, was not exempt from this maxim. He glanced around; Minsc was dutifully scooping another pile of debris towards the first, under Jaheira’s direction, and Maera and Soluafein were talking. He felt a sour spike of disapproval, which he hastily quashed. _Don’t be an idiot, Coltrane_ , he scolded himself. _You can’t fault him for having good taste_. Imoen leapt down from her spot on the rail, keeping her feet like a cat as she landed. She came and sat near him on the platform floor, resting her back against his leg. The concept of personal space had absolutely no meaning to her.

“Just look at him,” she commented, looking at Maera and Solaufein. “He’s got his filthy paws all over her! You should go teach him a lesson.”

“Ha ha.” Kelsey gave her a flat glare. The top of her head made an awfully tempting target.

She glanced up and shot him a disarming smile. “You know I only pick on you ‘cuz I like you, right?”

He had trouble believing that. “Lucky me.” She made a face at him, before returning to a survey of the platform.

“Poor Mae,” she said, watching her sister approach Minsc and Jaheira. “If she feels anything like I did when we faced down Bodhi, I bet her skin feels like it’s about to crawl right off. And now she’s having to wait on Elhan, too.”

“She is awfully restless. I don’t blame her, though, even if I can’t really imagine how it must feel.” A stray bit of leaf, blown along by the steady breeze, landed on Imoen’s shoulder, and he brushed it off. “When you got your soul back, what was it like?”

Imoen continued to watch Maera in silence. Just when Kelsey began to wonder if she was going to answer, she said, “I’m having to think about it. It’s hard to describe.” She took a deep, thoughtful breath. “It was like…being in a city, in a really nasty part of town. All the gutters overflowing and it’s hot and it stinks, but you’ve been there so long you’re almost used to it. Then, poof!” She snapped her fingers. “You’re teleported away, and suddenly, you’re on a mountainside, and the air is so pure, it’s like you’ve never breathed before. That’s…kinda what it felt like. Does that make any sense?”

Kelsey nodded slowly. “Probably as much as it can.”

A shout, and the sound of heavy footfalls, rose from the sloping walkway to their left, and they stood quickly, tensed and ready. Maera jogged to Demin’s side, loosening Daystar in its sheath, but the source of the noise gave her no cause to draw it. Elhan, his armor splattered with dirt and gore, strode forward, flanked by a pair of equally untidy lieutenants. He stopped start at the sight of Demin, tired eyes widening. “Demin?" The General pressed a fist to his heart and dropped to one knee, his aides echoing the gesture. "Whiteleaf," he said, "we are at your service once more."

Demin heaved an exasperated sigh. “Oh, get up, Elhan. We don’t have time for ceremony. The Exile is within, with Ellesime, and now that you’re here, I feel confident in declaring the city secure.” She raised an eyebrow. “The city _is_ secure?”

Elhan stood, smiling. General and Whiteleaf had met, now they spoke as friends. “Do you not have any faith left over for me, Demin?”

“I will take that as a yes,” she retorted, then glanced up at Maera. “Maera, the next move is yours.”

"Give me ten minutes and I can provide them a detail..." Elhan's voice trailed off as Demin shook her head.

"This is Maera's task, given to her by Rillifane himself."

“They are not going in there alone!” Elhan objected.

“The Leaflord has charged her with this, General. Will you gainsay our god?”

Elhan ground his teeth and folded his arms crossly. Looking off to the side, he caught a sudden glimpse of the dark figure trying desperately to look inconspicuous. “A prisoner, Demin? Do you want us to dispose of him?”

He began to walk towards towards Solaufein, his face hard. Demin sidestepped firmly into his path. “He is not a prisoner,” she said.

Those words, in that particular combination, made no sense whatsoever to the general. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that he is not a prisoner. He is here of his own free will. He stood with us in the Temple, and Rillifane spoke for him.”

A muscle in Elhan’s cheek twitched as he eyed Solaufein grimly. “You never were very good at jokes, Demin.”

“I would that I were joking; this would be far more sensible then!” Demin snapped. “He did not come here in the company of the invaders, and while he has proven himself an irritant with a smart mouth, I cannot overlook what I have seen today. So you will stand down, General, and leave him in peace!” She glanced back at Solaufein. “You see? You are not the only one who suffers at my hands.”

His answering smile was almost a smirk, but there was no hiding the relief in his eyes. “The Lady be praised,” he murmured.

Maera stood in silence as the elves talked and finally, she held up her hands, fingers spread. “Okay!” she said, trying desperately not to simply turn and rip the palace doors off their hinges. “We have established several things: Elhan is here, and that’s good. Solaufein is our friend, and that is also good. Now, please excuse me, I have an appointment in the palace and I don’t want to be late.” She swung on her heel, her party wordlessly forming up behind her. Demin called after her.

“Maera!” Maera stopped, but did not turn. “Rillifane go with you. We will be waiting,” the priestess said. Maera nodded, and kept walking

As they came to the double doors, Maera’s hand hovered over the handle. She let out a long, slow breath. “I…I just want to thank you all. For everything.”

“Thank your companions when they do something extraordinary,” Jaheira replied calmly, “not for something they would already do.”

Maera smiled tightly. “Point, Jaheira. As usual.” She pushed open the door. “Here we go.”

* * *

 

Wherever Irenicus was, silence followed. Just as he had turned the babbling madhouse of Spellhold into a tomb, so here had he hushed the life that had existed in Ellesime’s palace. The ubiquitous rustle and creak of leafy branches that were Suldanesellar’s constant backdrop was strangely muted, and even the colors of the silk banners decorating the smooth walls seemed dim. A corridor led to the great hall that was Ellesime’s throne room, where tree limbs stood like pillars and light filtered hazily through the crown of leaves that formed the ceiling.

There was another source of light – a web of glowing red that surrounded the throne, its stark, inorganic color shining vivid and unnatural in the gloom. Irenicus sat there, ramrod straight, hands gripping the arms of the throne in a claw-like grip. They started as they recognized him, but it was obvious he was elsewhere. His lips moved, but there was no sound. The sound of soft, wheezing breaths drew their attention to the back wall, beyond Irenicus’s strange cage.

A woman lay on her side on a platform of tangled boughs. A curtain of heavy, honey gold hair half covered her face, and she was struggling to keep her eyes open. Maera cautiously skirted the throne, warily glancing behind her every few seconds. “No need to fear,” the woman murmured, her voice slurred as though with exhaustion. “He cannot see you now. I’m afraid he is nearly finished.”

“Are you Queen Ellesime?” Maera whispered.

The elf moved her head once in the affirmative and chuckled tiredly. “Not the most regal of settings, I know. My apologies for this somewhat…lackluster showing.” Stringing together so many words at once seemed to be almost more than she could manage. Jaheira knelt beside her, but before her glowing hands reached the queen, Ellesime shook her head weakly. “You cannot help me, kinswoman.” The druid stuttered at the appellation as Ellesime continued, stroking the branch nearest her with a limp hand. “It’s the Tree. He’s killing us.”

“How do we stop him?” Maera’s voice was terse.

Ellesime squinted up at her, forcing her eyes to focus. “You’re like me, aren't you? You appear human, but you are not. Not wholly.”

Maera cleared her throat, trying to avoid the queen’s bleary gaze. “We’ll just say that my father was not as benevolent as yours.”

“Oh? How odd. We should speak of this later, if we have the chance.” She did not seem to have the energy for surprise. “Your question…he’s protected within the circle. He is pulling the power of the Tree into himself.” Her breathing was shallow and labored. "He's almost done."

Imoen slowly circled the throne, surveying the complex ritual circle that surrounded Irenicus, shaking her head. “This is some top shelf ritual work. Can’t just smudge out the circle. We do this the wrong way, we could blow up half of Suldanesellar.” She puffed out her cheeks, exhaling heavily. “Ritual magic isn’t really my thing, you know. Dynaheir never liked that. ’Theory is the basis of understanding. You have to know how it works to make it work!’” she said, mimicking Dynaheir’s accented contralto.

Minsc started in amazement. “You sounded just like her!”

She shot him a quick smile, and tilted her head, eyeing the glyphs that lined the edges of the diagram. “Every circle has the point where it begins and ends. That’s its weak spot…and the only place it can be broken that won’t cause the energy he’s diverted into himself to blow back on us.”

“How do we find that spot?” Kelsey asked.

“Just have to trace the spell back to its beginning…” She shook her head. “Man, this is complicated.”

“You’re smarter than he is, Im," Maera said. "You can do it.”

Imoen completed another circuit, mouthing the words spelled out by the glyphs. “I think…I think I understand how he did this. He’s basically using this circle as a plug. The power that should be radiating out from this spot through the whole city is being stopped here. And diverted directly into him.” She glanced at Irenicus’s form. “You tricky son of a bitch.” She backtracked halfway around the circle, to a spot at his left hand. “It’s here.” She glanced up at the rest of the party. “Get ready. He’s not going to be happy when I break this. And explosion is still an option.”

She raised her hand, and a jet of flame burst from her open palm, scorching the floor, the symbols melting away as the wood burned. The light vanished, and a roar of wind shook the hall. Irenicus’s eyes snapped open as he thrust himself to his feet. “No. No. NO!” He swung his head about, enraged, and his eyes narrowed as he recognized them. “So. You. I should have known. Not content just to haunt my steps, you push and you push, you upstart insect! I have studied, I have planned! I set my vengeance in motion before your very birth!” he bellowed. His wrathful eyes fixed on Maera, who shook with equal fury. “Why won’t you just DIE?” He raised his hands, everyone tensed to strike–

“Joneleth.”

Irenicus turned slowly to face Ellesime, who was in the process of pulling herself to her feet. She sagged against a branch, leaning heavily, and she panted with the effort, but her green-gold eyes were clear and focused. “Don’t call me that,” he said flatly.

“What shall I call you then?”

“I have chosen a name that pleases me.”

“Somehow I do not believe anything pleases you now.”

He barked a humorless laugh. “And whose fault is that, Ellesime?”

“I do not deny I was a fool,” she said, stiffening. “And that my foolishness was born of love is all the more galling in hindsight.”

Irenicus cocked his head, gaze fixed on her. “Love. You say that as if it should mean something to me. I look at your face and I know that I loved you once. But I cannot remember what that felt like.”

“I can.” Ellesime stared back at him, ever as tears spilled down her cheeks. “I remember it all. Far better than I wish to. I remember the joy of seeing you smile and knowing I was the cause of it. I remember the pleasure of losing myself in our time together, feeling like we were only people in the world. I remember that you loved me for myself.” She began to walk towards him slowly, a hand outstretched. “Is there anything of Joneleth left in the man before me? Look at what you’ve done here and tell me it is not meaningless to you!”

He reached out and seized her hand, turning it over in his grasp as though seeing it for the first time. Ellesime continued to stare at him, her jaw clenched as a welter of emotions blazed across her face; guilt, sadness, anger, and even the faintest trace of pity. Irenicus remained silent, looking at the slim hand in his. “On the contrary, " he said finally. "It is very meaningful indeed.” He opened his hand, and her fingers slipped from his. “You should have killed me then, Ellesime,” he said. “Then, I cared. Then, it might have meant something. Now? Now there is no room for regret. The years have sharpened me into a weapon. All I am now is vengeance. You talk of love, but you have no one to blame but yourself for what you made of me.”

“My gods," Maera scoffed. "Listen to yourself." Irenicus whipped back around to face her. “Your little soullessness problem is your own damn fault.” She stabbed a finger at him. “She may not have had you executed, and she'll have to answer to herself and the entire city of Suldanessellar for the rest of her life for it, but _you_ were the one who decided revenge would make it all better. You don’t get to pass this off or play blame games. You transgressed against your god, and you got spanked for it. And instead of accepting that, you come roaring back like you're owed something. Well, you're not. Nobody in this room owes you a single, godsblighted thing. Is what happened to you _really_ worth the lives you've taken, and the people you've hurt? Short answer? No. Long answer?" She drew her sword, and the smooth leathery whisper of it leaving its sheath was loud in the utter silence. "Hell no."

Behind her, Imoen's bow creaked. "Seconded."

"Motion carries," Kelsey said.

Irenicus’s strange face was still. “Obviously, failing to kill those who have earned it is a theme in this bizarre little play of ours. Ellesime may have been too soft-hearted with me, and I was too self-assured with you, but unlike her, I will be rectifying _my_ mistake shortly.”

"How arrogant must you be," Jaheira said, her voice deadly soft, "to think you can do what you have done to us, and face no retribution?"

"Minsc and Boo have his retribution," the ranger declared. "It is called a sword, and he will be introduced to it!"

Maera never took her eyes from Irenicus. Her mind was ablaze, and her skin felt electric. She could feel her soul, locked away inside him, straining to be free and return to its proper vessel. The Slayer shadows clamored in her head, hissing eagerness and anger, but she felt the same calm that had overtaken when she faced Bodhi. The buzzing was gone. _Peace at the center_ , she told herself, raising Daystar. “Ellesime. You should get out of here. This is about to get very messy.”

The air around them crackled with magical energy. Even under her jerkin and gauntlets, Maera could feel the hairs on her arms rising. “Do you really think you can defeat me, girl? I have within me the very thing that made you special.”

She felt herself sneer. He had underestimated her from the beginning, and that would be his undoing. "Bodhi had an extra special soul too, and look what it got her."

His expression didn’t flicker. “Trying to bait me? That’s a futile tactic.”

“Why waste the energy? I'm just stating the obvious.”

It felt good to launch herself at him, to let Daystar sing in the air. She could see their faces in her mind; his victims. Aran Linvail’s Shadow Thieves and the inmates of Spellhold, used as fuel for his rituals as casually as one tossed another log on a fire. The innocents of Suldanesellar; men and women widowed, children orphaned, homes and lives destroyed. Even the drow of Ust Natha, played for fools in their desire to lash out against their ancient foes.

But most of all, she saw the ones she’d lost at his hand. Khalid, so gentle and unassuming that one could forget him, faced with the force of Jaheira’s personality. But it had been that very meekness, the heart of his sweet-natured soul, that had made him so endearing. He was perhaps the most genuinely _good_ person she had ever met. And Dynaheir - aloof but kind, she had borne Minsc’s eccentricities and oddities with patient affection. Wearing her brilliance like other women might a gown, she had nurtured the seed of magical talent in Imoen. If only she could have been there to see how far her student had come.

And Yoshimo. Poor Yoshimo.

She had to give Irenicus credit. He was very good. Juggling the five of them, blocking a blow from Minsc, absorbing a spell from Kelsey, firing off another at Imoen, and all without flagging. She knew of very few battle mages with that sort of reflexive focus, and had seen fewer. It was impressive. Or it would have been, if it weren’t impeding her efforts to kill him. No matter. He would run out of magic eventually, and she could outlast him. She had to.

Grunting, she ducked to avoid another burst of fire from his hand, grinning harshly as she saw one of Imoen’s counterspells had punched another hole in his shield. She dived for the opening, slashing him low across the chest. Minsc crowed as he too landed a blow, which sent Irenicus stumbling, blood oozing from his side. The mage swore as he lost his footing, but rolled to his feet again, shields glowing with fresh intensity. Jaheira shouted the final word of an invocation with triumph as she raised her staff over her head and lightening arced through the leaves of the Tree and struck him, piercing his protective magics.

With the fury of a mountain flood, an exhalation more triumphant than any Maera had ever felt before washed over her. It was _here_ , her soul reaching out, catching at the edges of her, like fingers tugging at loose threads. She had him, by the gods, and he could not escape her. All his cunning, and he could not beat her.

Irenicus dropped to one knee, pressing his left arm to the wound on his chest, his eyes afire. “Fools,” he panted. “Do you _really_ think you can win? I will not have it. I WILL NOT!”

He raised both arms, howling an incantation. His shields glowed fiercely, keeping at bay any attempt to silence him before its end. As the words rose to their climax, Irenicus’s body began to glow, and for an instant, Maera thought she saw the shadowy shape of the Slayer surround him. But she only had an instant, because in the next second, fire exploded around them, and the world disappeared in a colorless haze of heat and pain.

* * *

 

Suddenly, she was aware again. She was conscious of her body, of hands and feet and aching head. Pressing her fingertips to her temple, she heaved herself into a sitting position and opened her eyes. “Where the he-?”

Everywhere, hot, bare rock, carved in grotesque shapes, a heat shimmer dancing in the distance. The air stunk of sulfur and other, fouler odors, and underlying it all was the metal sharp tang of blood. She sat at the base of a tall pillar, but as she looked more closely, she realized it was a statue. A very familiar form rose before her, the shining black rock glinting in the dull light, and she knew exactly where she was.

“Oh shit."


	22. Welcome to Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I don't belong here."_

When he died, Kelsey felt something tug at him. There was somewhere he was supposed to go, and that destination should have been his sole objective. He knew this. He could rest now, if he wanted. And yet, he was not sure that he did. The pull was gentle, but insistent, like an eager child at his sleeve. He recognized it, and knew its name. Her name. She needed him. Her work was not finished yet, and that meant his was not either. He turned his back on the place that was waiting for him. It would be there again. She needed him, and he followed.

* * *

 

Maera replayed the final moments in the palace again and again in her mind. Irenicus had killed them all, and somehow, in death, pulled her along after him. To Hell. Or rather, a hell of Bhaal’s. She gazed up at the obsidian statue of the dead god. The place felt at once welcoming and hateful, like a long-lost relation that was glad to see her, but nonetheless nursing a grudge. But she wasn’t afraid, she found, nor even terribly discomfited.

Why should she be? This was where she came from, after all.

The words, laced with despondent bitterness, brought forth a sigh, but beneath that ran a river of malicious, rejoicing glee. Finally! She was where she belonged! She was no longer bound by those petty, _human_ concerns. This was the center of it all, the source of her strength, and she was home! She grinned darkly, and her right hand dropped, crossing her abdomen, falling on her sword hilt-

Even in death, she still bore Daystar. The disc of rose quartz on the hilt, Lathander’s symbol, lay just beneath her fingers. And on the chain around her neck, there still hung the silver charm etched with Oghma’s scroll. She _was_ human, subject to beings greater than herself, and in turn, tasked with the defense of those she was greater than. Her strength had more than one source.

“I don’t belong here,” she murmured.

“Maera!”

She sighed with relief as she recognized the voice. Just like always, Imoen had found her. “I’m here, Im.” Her sister appeared from the gloom, eyes wide and posture edgy.

“I’d ask what the hell, but I’m afraid I’ve answered my own question,” Imoen said sourly, rubbing her arms.

“So it would seem,” Maera replied. “Why are you here, Im? Bhaalspawn or not, this can’t possibly be where you’re supposed to end up.”

“I followed you,” Imoen shrugged. “Figured wherever you were going had to be more interesting.”

Maera shook her head, disbelieving but grateful. “That’s always your excuse, and it never works out the way you plan.”

Imoen spread her hands. “Glutton for punishment, I guess.”

A voice echoed, hollow as a tomb, from the darkness beyond Bhaal’s statue. “You. You are of the Master’s blood.” There was a hiss of disgust, as if the unseen speaker had just stepped in something unpleasant. “But you do not belong here. You traffic in mercy. And love.” This last was pronounced like a slur. A balor slunk from the shadows, the sourceless, orange-red light of the plane catching on its curved horns and yellowed fangs. “I know you. You are the prodigal,” it whispered. “You have turned from the gift. You have squandered your sire’s power.”

Without thinking, Maera rolled her eyes. Demon or not, she was getting tired of this particular song and dance. “You know, it’s bad enough I have to be here without being given grief about my lifestyle choices.” The balor growled low in its throat, but it did not move, its barbed tail lashing. Something kept it at bay; some force restrained it, against its obvious wishes. It was angry, but could do nothing against her. Maera suddenly laughed, unable to contain herself. “The black sheep of the Bhaalspawn clan comes home and you can’t give me the thrashing you think I need. Isn’t that a shame?” The demon did not answer. “Oh, come on. You have to admit, it’s pretty funny.” The only sound was the whip-like sound of its thrashing tail. Seeing it disinclined to play along, Maera shrugged and turned. “Not big on irony, I see. Oh well. Let’s go, Im. Irenicus is waiting.”

“Idiot whelp,” the balor spat at her departing back. “No doubt you congratulate yourself for being so _good_.” It dismissed the word with the same distaste it had accorded love.

Maera turned back, tilting her head. “You’re not just angry, are you? You’re _afraid_ of me.”

“And why should I, a loyal servant of the Lord of Murder, loyal even beyond death, fear of one my master’s failures?”

She could feel the thing’s fear, smell it, taste it. The whole of the hell that surrounded her reeked of it, and she understood. It was suddenly so clear. “Because that’s what I am. His failure. He was so arrogant, so self-impressed, so shortsighted, he honestly never believed any of his Children would reject him. You _are_ afraid of me, because I’m everything that went wrong with his plan. I’m the evidence of _his_ weakness, not the other way around.” She shook her head. “All this time I’ve wasted being afraid of him, when he was just as afraid of me. Like a snake.” She turned her back on the balor, but it could not resist one last parting shot.

“The others, they have embraced your father’s strength. They stand with his power behind them. They will rise up soon, and drown the mortal world in blood! How will you stand before their strength, lost one? What do you have?”

Imoen rounded on the beast, her blue eyes blazing. “She has ME. Now go away. We’re busy.”

* * *

 

When Jaheira died, it was not her life that flashed before her eyes, but a memory. She remembered sitting in the great common room of the Friendly Arm Inn, hastily finishing a letter. _I fear we can wait no longer than a tenday, old friend. This business in the south will require intervention soon. As for your request, if it should come to that, you know we will give your fosterling any aid within our power. I confess I am interested to meet her after all these years._ But then there had been no Gorion, only a lost girl whose jaw was set in terrified determination, Imoen trailing in her wake like a shadow. Even a promise lightly made must be kept, and the girl had needed her. She needed her still. Jaheira followed.

* * *

 

A tall, male figure in spiked armor blurred into being before them with a slow, deep chuckle. She would have known that laugh from a league away. “Never content to do things quietly, are you, sister?”

The voice gave her pause, and Maera felt herself grow very still. Once, he had been the stuff of nightmares. Once, he had lurked in the corners of her mind, the ogre, the demon, the source of every horror. Once, she had hated him so, she had feared she would burst apart from the rage. She searched within for the fear and anger and found none. The place in her emotions once inhabited by Sarevok Anchev was curiously empty. “Not that I’m surprised to see you in hell, Sarevok, but what are you doing here?”

“I sensed you coming. And I wanted to know what manner of creature you have become since you killed me.”

Sarevok. Her opposite. Her antithesis. Her enemy. She pushed again at the place in her mind where he had once loomed, and found only the memory of pulling her blade from his body, lightheaded from blood loss and exhaustion, her hand so slick with blood that Varscona’s hilt slipped from her grasp. She had been so sure then that it could not be over, but time and distance had done their work, as inexorably as water on rock. And rather than flooding back, it seemed as if she saw it all through a window. Killing him had not been the end, as she had thought it would be. It had simply been a passage, one she had experienced, and moved beyond. She shrugged.

“I am the creature you see.”

A slow smile spread over Sarevok’s ghostly face. “But I sense the taint that has touched you. You have become the Slayer. I long wished for such a union with our father’s darkness, but I never could achieve it. Show it to me. Let me live vicariously…if you’ll pardon the expression.”

Maera folded her arms. “If you’d like a performance, there’s a very nice playhouse in the Five Flagons Inn in Athkatla. But aside from dropping a few names, I can’t help you.”

His lips twitched. “What is this? Did your old mockery grow stale? Come now,” he said, his voice growing smooth in that unctuous, all too familiar way, “you cannot tell me it was an experience not worth replicating."

He had a point. Nothing in her life could ever match the furious, blood-singing glory of becoming the Slayer. And in equal turn, nothing could match the horror of its aftermath. She found that she would much more happily accept the confines the mortal form placed on such sensations, rather than face such a precipitous rise and fall ever again. “I’m told jumping off a building is quite a high too, but some experiences really aren’t worth the price you have to pay for them.”

He leaned forward, eyes narrowed to hard slits. “What makes you so superior now? I knew you from the beginning. I killed your precious Gorion, and I sought your death. I saw murder in your eyes the night you slew me. Show me that I was murdered by Bhaal’s true heir!”

Arrogance was the common theme, she thought. Irenicus thought his plans so grand he was elevated above her grasp, and Sarevok still thought himself her greatest enemy. And neither could conceive that she might disagree. “If you’re looking for some sort of cosmic validation for your death, Sarevok, you’ve come to the wrong person. The books are balanced and the slate is clean. We’re even now. And honestly, I feel a little sorry for you that you have nothing better to do with your afterlife than try to restart old fights.”

“You pity me?” he snarled. “How insulting.”

“If you’d like to feel insulted, go ahead. I won’t stop you. But the truth is, I’m not here for you. I have business with someone else, and when that’s concluded, I’m sort of hoping I’ll be able to leave.” She touched Imoen’s shoulder and they began to walk past him. As she drew even with him, she paused to add, “Sorry to disappoint you, Sarevok, but we’re finished."

Sarevok’s form began to waver and fade, but as he melted into the darkness, he whispered, “You and I will never be finished, sister.”

* * *

 

Boo had assured him that despite Dynaheir’s death, a glorious warrior’s afterlife was not out of the question, so Minsc was just the tiniest bit nonplussed to realize he was headed in quite the opposite direction when he died. But then it struck him (somewhat slowly, but with great force, as most of his thoughts did) who he was following, and then it was all right. For by her side was the best place to be if one desired to put the boot to villainy’s various and sundry parts, and Minsc had never wanted more or less than just that. If she wasn’t done buttkicking, neither was he.

* * *

 

The tingling had never really gone away. She had simply adapted to it, to the point she could almost ignore it now. But slowly, she became aware of another sensation; a feeling of reaching, of stretching, of holding out one’s hand and knowing that at any moment, it would be taken. She stopped, and closed her eyes, concentrating on the faint impression, trying to pull it to the forefront of her mind. Imoen watched her, her eyes concerned. “Mae? What’s wrong?”

It was close now. It reminded her of waking up when she was very small, when she still slept in Gorion’s room, comforted by the knowledge of his presence, even if she could not see him. “Don’t you feel it, Im?”

“Feel what?"

“Someone’s coming.”

“Irenicus?”

“No.”

And they were there. Kelsey, and Jaheira, and Minsc, suddenly in front of her as though they had been all along. Maera gaped at them. “Well,” Kelsey said, looking around with disquieted surprise, “this was not quite what I was expecting.”

Maera’s jaw continued to brush the rocky floor as Imoen threw herself joyfully into the nearest pair of arms she could find. “I am so glad to see you guys! How did you get here?”

Jaheira returned the Imoen’s embrace gently, but her eyes were on Maera’s stunned face. “It would appear our destinies are more closely entwined to Maera’s than we knew. I, for one, am at peace with that.”

Maera reached out slowly to touch Kelsey’s cheek, swallowing hard as her gloved fingers made contact with his skin. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, then let out a breathless squeak of surprise as Minsc gathered her into a huge hug.

“We heard you calling, and we came,” he said happily, squeezing her hard against a chest that would have been like steel plate even if he hadn’t been wearing armor. “We had to! If we do not wear the boots of Justice often enough, we will get blisters.”

Kelsey caught her arm, carefully extricating her from the big ranger’s grip. He flashed her a half-smile, and shrugged. “Love’s a funny thing.” He wrinkled his nose, and Maera realized that while she had had time to be accustomed to the smell of the place, it was assaulting the others for the first time. She felt a sudden urge to apologize profusely, but she instead extended her arms in a small and sarcastic “ta da!”.

“Welcome to hell,” she said.

Jaheira clenched and loosened her fist about her staff, an absent, thoughtful gesture. “So Irenicus has come here. And carried you along in his wake.” Maera nodded. “Then logic would dictate we must find him.”

“How do we do that?” Imoen asked. “This place isn’t exactly the most straightforward. We could probably walk around for hours and find ourselves right back here.”

“Metaphysical place,” Maera said slowly, tapping her temple. “Just have to think metaphysically.” She closed her eyes.

She concentrated on the buzz. It was her soul she felt causing the cicada-like thrum, stretched between her and Irenicus like an impossibly fine cord. She realized it had been that line she had been following since Spellhold, feeling it tug her along as she stumbled through the Underdark, snapping her back to Suldenesellar. And when they had died, the tie remained, and there was only one way to break it. She reached out for the thread that connected them, and _pulled_.

The line went slack, and then she heard his voice in her mind. _I cannot be rid of you even here!_

 _No, you can’t._ She tightened her mental grip. _We end this, Irenicus. Face me._

“Very well.”

He stood before them, flanked by a pair of demons, a corona of shadows engulfing him that almost looked like the Slayer, like the imperfect tracing of a familiar image. He stretched one dark-limned hand, studying it. “Strange. I had not thought of the other, more extreme uses of the power in your soul, Maera. I was thinking only of its benefits for my immediate work, but there is so much more. I was rather shortsighted, I will admit.” He lowered his hand, and his mouth curved in a caricature of a smile that made her gorge rise. “You may choose to hide away the very source of your strength, but _I_ embrace it!”

“I like to think I’m greater than the sum of my parts,” she retorted. “You said it yourself. You can’t be rid of me. Haven’t you figured out by now I will go anywhere to finish this?"

Pure contempt oozed through the air between them. “And when yet have you beaten me, girl? When have you even come close? You are persistent, yes, but I have taken from you, and I have killed you. Continuing on is folly and madness, and you know that.”

Maera inhaled to make a hot reply, but Kelsey spoke first. “But the thing you’re not saying,” he said quietly, “is that you haven’t beaten her yet either. Because if you had, she wouldn’t be here right now. None of us would. And _you_ know that.”

“We have followed her here because we believe in her,” Jaheira added. “But you stand alone, even with your toadies.” She dismissed the demons with a scornful jerk of her chin. “Enough anger has been wasted on you. I believe I can kill you now as I would a rabid beast – to put you out of your misery.”

A snarl of rage rose from Irenicus’s throat, and Maera recognized that sound. The Slayer was working on him, stoking the fires of his anger past their natural boundaries. And as she knew all too well, anger was frequently stupid.

“They’re right, you know. Your one mistake in this whole mess was thinking I was disposable. Well, you wouldn’t be the first to underestimate me, and I doubt you’ll be the last, but you won’t be around to find out, because it’s _your_ part that’s over now. Joneleth.” He sucked in a quick, furious breath, and she glanced at her companions, the people who loved her enough to risk Hell for her. There was no need to verbalize a battle plan. They knew what she needed to do. So she charged.

Irenicus blocked her first swing with his shadowy forearm. “How dare you…” he growled. “You take a moment’s suffering and think that it makes you my equal. You know nothing of what I have endured."

She mentally reached for the thread of her soul again, and timed her tug on it with her next stroke. He howled as Daystar’s blade bit deep. “Here’s the thing – I don’t care,” she said as she reeled in the line tighter. “There is nothing for you to justify or defend. You can’t break me now.” She swung again, and the almost-Slayer shadows fizzled.

To her left and right, her party had paired off and engaged the demons. Jaheira stood within a glowing shield of Imoen’s creation, her staff a blur as she pummeled her target, and Minsc roared with fierce joy as a bolt of lightning left Kelsey’s hands, scorching the air. Maera couldn’t watch them for long, but she knew that with them by her side, she could afford to give her focus solely to Irenicus. She wasn’t sure she would even know what it felt like to doubt them now.

Irenicus, having figured out the trick to their mental tug-of-war, pulled back, and she quickly brought Daystar up just in time to block a swipe of his arm, sheathed in Slayer-shadowed claws. His other arm moved, driving her back, scoring her armor deeply. She spared a quarter second to glance down - another strike would bring blood. She seized the thread again, unwilling to lose the rhythm. Pull and swing, pull and swing, pull and...

He had abandoned his magic, she noted, and she struggled not to laugh in his face for it. The Slayer was a poor crutch indeed, as she knew all too well. Certainly, it made one _feel_ invincible, but feeling and being were rarely the same thing. She felt him pull again; where would he strike next? High? Low? To her left? He swung again, and she gambled, ducking low. The passage of his clawed hand over her head parted her hair, and she felt feel his anger stoked hotter. Pull. Pull back. Pull and swing.

"HA HA!" Minsc crowed in jubilation, giving his sword a final thrust into the heart of the demon before him, its black blood shining on his dented armor. The creature screamed and shuddered in its death throes, and Maera smiled grimly. Pull and swing...

"Jaheira!"

Imoen's voice carried over the sound of combat as the demon's clawed forefoot caught Jaheira across the torso, knocking her to the rough floor. She hesitated as she tried to regain her feet; something had broken in her landing. But before Maera had time to falter, Imoen was moving. "Kelsey!" Without missing a beat, he turned, and raised his hands. A sheet of fire rose between the demon and the druid, and Imoen raced to her side to help her stand once more as Minsc roared towards his new target.

She should have known better than to worry about them.

She reached for the cord again, just as she could feel Irenicus do the same. And for an instant, weapons were meaningless, physical motion unnecessary. She met his eyes, and she could see to the his very core, burning away with his stolen fire. His mind was strong, hardened and honed by years of disciplined rage. But he was still a mortal being, and in her dreams, she had faced gods. Gorion had always told her that her most dangerous weapon was within, and it was not until after his death that she had come to understand what he meant. With a final jerk, she pulled again, and this time Irenicus physically lurched towards her, directly into the path of her blade. She brought Daystar up; her arms moved without conscious thought, the motion as natural and reflexive as breathing. She ran him through almost to the hilt, his face inches from her own. He stared at her, eyes clouded with pain and some strange mix of wounded disappointment. “I…was so close…” he rasped.

“Believe that if it gives you comfort,” she said softly. She placed her left hand on his chest, and the last remaining vestiges of her soul within him flowed back into her. Irenicus slumped over her sword, and she dropped to her knees, unable to support the weight. The surviving demon, grievously wounded, fled as Irenicus fell, and Maera was suddenly so tired she could barely lift her head.

“Maera?” She heard Jaheira’s voice. “Maera…you are glowing.”

She looked down at her hands, turning them over, and chuckled tiredly. “So I am.” Something with her stretched and pushed, and her body suddenly did not seem big enough for the forces it contained. _It’s almost time,_ the voice of her Slayer-self hissed. _Alaundo was talking about you, you know. What will you do when the time comes? What will you become?_

“I really don’t like it here,” she mumbled. Then blessed darkness claimed her.


	23. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"All I have is trying to make my life matter to me."_

I. Twenty-Seven Hours

\----------------------------------------------------

The Exile lay where he fell, and no one had dared to touch him yet. It seemed an invisible circle surrounded him, and no one even wanted to glance in his direction. They had busied themselves instead with tending to the five adventurers, whom they had lined up in the ruins of the throne room, their armor and clothing carefully stripped, to be salvaged or disposed of later. Each was covered in a sheet up to the neck, but Demin wasn’t looking at them. She had been for hours and couldn’t bear to any longer.

It had to be nearly midnight by now, and she was so tired. Her eyes burned with exhaustion, the muscles in her shoulders trembled, and she had been kneeling so long she was sure she had lost feeling in her legs. Her body begged for the release of reverie; to slip away into trance would be so sweet. But she couldn’t. It couldn’t end like this. She wouldn’t let it.

It was not that the Leaflord had not answered her. The Oak was faithful; she had felt the gentle surge of strength enter her upon her first entreaty, and as always, she thanked her god for his trust in her, that he would put such awesome power at her disposal. The body could be mended, and the soul returned, and it was humbling to be the conduit through which miracles were worked. She had prayed for the lives of the adventurers, and Rillifane had answered her.

But they had not.

They remained cold and still, save the hamster, which had surprised her. After her first attempt at the resurrection, it had come nosing its way out of the ranger’s armor, and she would never know if it had somehow survived or if it had been her first success. It lay curled in the palm of her hand now, watching the body of its master with an almost unnerving awareness. She knew there were others in the room still – a younger priest and a pair of acolytes, a handful of soldiers, Ellesime, holding Elhan’s cloak tight about her shoulders, still so pale her lips were colorless – but as the hours slid by, their presence had become increasingly meaningless. She knew she couldn’t keep it up forever. Sooner or later, she would lose her focus and she would have to rest. But not yet. They _had_ to come back. Didn’t they want to?

“Demin!” She heard Ellesime’s voice, echoing from millions of miles away, and forced her eyes open.

They were breathing again, stirring as life returned. The hamster scampered off her hand, down her knee to the floor, and she stood shakily, tottering on numbed legs. The little mage (Imoen, wasn’t it?) moved her head, her eyelids fluttering; Demin raised her hand to her mouth and realized that her face was wet. She was so tired she had not even felt the tears slip from her eyes. She stumbled back towards the door, as the others gathered around the reviving adventurers. Ducking into the shadow of the throne room doors, the Whiteleaf leaned against the wall, sobs of relief tearing at her throat.

_They’re alive, they’re alive, thank you Rillifane, they’re-_

A small scuffing sound directly ahead of her caught her ear, and she looked up. The drow, Solaufein, also lurked in the doorway. How long had he been there? The embarrassed cast of his eyes said long enough, and he ducked his head silently, half-turned, then looked back at her. “Why…why are you crying?” he asked, genuine confusion in his voice.

“I’m not even sure.” She wiped at her nose with her sleeve, and the tiny part of her that still gave a damn protested wildly at such undignified behavior. _And in front of the drow, too!_ “It has been a very long day, and I…felt myself begin to despair.”

“But the danger is past now, and that…” He looked sidelong again, bowing his head. “Excuse me…it’s not my place to-”

“Solaufein.” Something about his posture, his word choice, his refusal to meet her eyes, set her teeth on edge, but not for the reasons she would have thought even a day earlier. “I may be ill-tempered, but I am not the sort of priestess you have known.”

She could see the faint beginnings of a smile on his face. “Indeed not,” he said. His eyes flickered up to her face. Such strange eyes, she thought. From childhood, she had heard of drow with their 'eyes like blood', but that wasn’t entirely true, it seemed. His were the clear, gem-like color of a polished garnet. Rather pretty, actually.

She heard a lazy chuckle, and was surprised to realize she was the source of it. By the Oak, she was exhausted indeed, to have such thoughts bouncing about in her head. “If you choose to remain here on the surface, you will find the delineation between male and female less stark that what you were accustomed to. Here, we are equal.”

For an instant, he looked as if her words had struck a chord. But then a slyness entered his smile, and he replied, “But we are not equal. You are the highest priestess of a mighty god of the Seldarine, and I am an apostate in exile.”

So among his other supposed qualities, he was a pedant, as well! She wanted to laugh, but a sobering thought smothered the mirth. “You've struggled long, to hone your wits so sharp,” she murmured.

He glanced away again. “They have often been my only weapon.”

“That is a shame.” It was the first thing that came into her mind, and it surprised her as much as it did him.

He blinked and opened his mouth, but another voice called excitedly, “Whiteleaf!” The senior of the two acolytes, a male whose name she could not remember at the moment, trotted towards her. “Whitele-” He caught sight of Solaufein, and it took him a moment to recover his voice. “W-Whiteleaf, the adventurers have all regained consciousness. Well, except for Maera.”

* * *

 

Jaheira wanted to hit them all. Instead, she settled for a glare, and that seemed to work well enough. "Space to breathe would be appreciated!" she growled, and the others flinched back, with various degrees of shame, ranging from the deep (Kelsey) to the cursory (Imoen), on their faces.

She turned her eyes back to Maera, squinting hard to force her eyes to focus. She had not been in the habit of requiring resurrection, and she still felt rather vacant and at loose ends. But reality was slowly reasserting itself. While the rest of them had woken, Maera had not, and they were gathered around her, having been given soft robes to wrap themselves in while their packs were fetched from Demin's home. Jaheira tilted her head, her fingers at the side of Maera's throat. The younger woman's pulse was strong, and her breathing was deep and regular. Jaheira shrugged, looking up at the others. "I cannot explain it," she said. "It would appear she is simply asleep."

"I didn't fall asleep," Imoen remarked, perplexed.

"You did not die," Jaheira countered. "The mechanics of returning a soul under any circumstance are beyond my knowledge, and particularly in this case."

"Whatever the reason," came Ellesime's light voice, "she should not have to remain there on the floor." The Queen stood before them, the set of her face making it obvious that only willpower was keeping her vertical. "Captain," she said to the soldier beside her, "there are guest quarters in the north wing that should be sufficient for the night. Will you be so good as to direct our friends to them?" The captain nodded, and Minsc effortlessly gathered Maera up in his arms to follow; her head lolled loosely and Kelsey worriedly brushed her hair out of her face.

"She'll be okay, Red," Imoen said softly, stopping to scoop Boo up. Elhan brushed past the adventurers as they filed past into the darkened hall, and his eyes lit on his queen.

"Majesty." He bowed low, then straightened to look at her squarely. "You should rest." She shook her head.

"Not yet."

"What more is there to do tonight? The city is entirely secured." She wasn't looking at him, but over his shoulder, and he turned his head to follow her gaze. None had ventured close to the Exile's twisted remains, and they did not make for a pretty sight. Ironically enough, he had borne the brunt of his own firestorm. Or perhaps that had been his design. Elhan twitched his shoulders with distaste and banished the thoughts from his mind. It was little matter – Joneleth of Suldanessellar had died long ago, and now Irenicus had joined him. There were other, far more worthy objects for his attention. "What do you wish to be done with him, Majesty?"

She was silent for a fearsomely long moment, and when she spoke, her voice was almost too low to be heard. "I will need a shovel, and a lantern."

Elhan stared at her. "You cannot mean..."

"This madness began because I stayed my hand, General. No others should have to dirty theirs now." She looked him in the face, the gold in her eyes catching fire. "I will need a shovel, and a lantern, and a general who can keep a secret."

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that she was not merely an elf. Perhaps she had forgotten it too, but not now. He bowed again with slow reverence. "All three are easily obtained, Majesty."

* * *

 

The door wasn’t completely closed, but Imoen knocked anyway before entering. She wasn’t completely sure why; perhaps it was the feeling she was entering a sickroom. Rationally, she knew that wasn’t the case. Demin and Jaheira had come to the consensus that Maera was still asleep for the same reason anyone might be – she needed the rest. But rationality couldn’t still the little voice in her head that said it wasn’t natural.

The room was bright with morning sunlight, which poured through the arched windows, over Maera and the completely unsurprising occupant of the chair beside her bed. Kelsey looked up as Imoen entered, his eyes red-rimmed and his face haggard. Sleep deprivation did him no favors. She clucked her tongue, which garnered a glower. “I am well aware it was stupid to stay up all night,” he grumbled. “Thank you, Jaheira Junior.”

“That’s tacky even for you, Kels.” She chuckled anyway. She had to give him credit for that one. “If you know it was stupid, why’d you do it?”

His eyes darted back towards Maera, who sighed in her sleep, and he chewed on his lower lip for a moment before whispering, “What if she wakes up?”

The plaintive exhaustion in his voice made her want to either hug him or smack him across the back of the head. Possibly both, and maybe at the same time. “You’re hopeless, you know that?” He shrugged, his gaze back on Maera, which gave her the opportunity to make a quick gesture with her right hand and mutter a few words. He looked back at her sharply.

“Hey, I know that incan-”

He slumped forward in his chair, and Imoen carefully pushed him back into a reclining position. On its own, the spell wouldn’t keep him asleep for long, but the real thing might kick in, given a foothold. She grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and covered him with it before addressing her sister. “He’s a sweet boy, but he’s not very bright sometimes.” She leaned down to gently kiss Maera’s forehead. “You’d better wake up soon.”

* * *

 

Minsc was helping.

He knew that was what he was best at. He was not smart, after all, and he knew that. But he was thorough, and whether his appointed task was to inflict severe bodily harm on evildoers, or make a bed (which was his current commission), he would do it to the best of his ability. Maera said he was also useful for removing the tops from jars, but it was so hard to tell sometimes if she was being serious or not.

The elf Queen, who was a very nice lady, had set aside a section of the guest rooms in the palace for them to use, but Jaheira had refused to let anyone wait on them in any shape or form. “It is ludicrous,” she had snapped, wresting a pile of sheets from a startled and somewhat terrified chambermaid’s hands. “I am sure you are more greatly needed elsewhere.” So she had set Minsc to making the beds, and after Kelsey had irritably woken from his enforced nap, she had put him to work straightening and sweeping.

Minsc finished tucking in the coverlet, and sat for a moment to admire his work. Boo scampered down his arm to inspect the bedding more closely, opining that it smelled very good. Even in the nicest human establishments, there was always the scent of mothballs. “Maybe elves don’t have moths,” Minsc suggested. Boo took that under consideration.

“Oh. You were speaking to the hamster.” Jaheira stood in the doorway. “Was that the last one?” Minsc nodded. She looked tired, but he knew better than to say anything. Years of shouted experience had taught him that with people like Jaheira, it was best to let _them_ decide how they felt, because the alternative was usually denial, and a thwacking, and Jaheira was the only person he had ever met who thwacked harder than Dynaheir. She gazed out the window, giving her eyes a stealthy rub. “She is still asleep. More than half a day, and she still cannot be roused.”

“Getting back a soul must be very tiring,” Minsc commiserated, and the corner of Jaheira’s mouth moved.

“It must be.” The druid straightened her back. Work time was not yet over. “Your armor seems to have survived in reasonable condition, but I noticed some of the strapwork will need to be replaced. You should clean it before this evening.” There was a thump from the next-door room, and Imoen’s voice, raised in a howl of protest. Jaheira sighed. “And that would be Kelsey taking his revenge.” She shook her head. “Children.”

As she stalked from the room to dispense a verbal thrashing, Minsc glanced down to comment to Boo that he wouldn’t want to be in their boots right now, but the hamster was already asleep.

* * *

 

It was dark, and she was lying in a bed. Those were the two things Maera was most immediately aware of when she woke, and neither of them seemed to match with her last memories. She squeezed her eyes open and shut, and slowly, they adjusted to the darkness. There was a dim pattern of leaves cast in silhouette on the ceiling. She was somewhere in Suldanessellar, but that didn’t narrow it down much.

She cataloged herself as she became aware of the various parts of her body. Hands and feet? Still in working order. Head? Not feeling entirely attached. Throat? Parched. Stomach? Ravenous. She rolled carefully onto her side, and discovered she was not alone. Her fellow sleeper lay on his back, one hand across his chest, the other extended towards her. He was rather cute, in a bookish sort of way, and his profile was naggingly familiar. Where did she know him from, and why did it not bother her in the slightest to find him in her bed?

She blinked, and the appropriate memories clicked into place. “Kelsey?”

His head moved in response to his name, and his eyes opened. They focused on her, then widened, and he threw his arms around her, pulling her into a surprisingly tight embrace. “Oh my gods, you’re awake. I was worried about you.”

She took a moment to consider this. She was not going to complain, but the vehemence of his reaction was a trifle puzzling. “Um…hi.” A determined wiggle of her shoulders gave her enough room to look him in the face. “I take it I was asleep for a while?”

He squinted towards the windows, where translucent curtains floated gently in the night air. “It looks like the moon’s almost set, so it's got to be past midnight…” He scrunched his forehead with mental calculation. "At least a day.”

She sat up, trying to orient herself. “Huh. No wonder I’m so hungry. And I really have to pee.”

He laughed. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Pressing business attended to, she sat on the bed, rubbing her face and trying to clear the cobwebs in her head. She stared at her hands - her very ordinary, human hands, with the crooked index finger, scars on the knuckles, and calluses on the palms – and remembered the glow that had surrounded them, the sensation of bursting at the seams with strength and power, and the words her Slayer-self had spoken. She shook the thoughts away, and cocked her head to look at Kelsey. “He’s really dead, isn’t he? It’s over. Oghma’s books, Kelsey, I don't even...” The enormity of the realization crashed over her like a wave, leaving her with only a few sandy shoals of coherent thought. Everything they had endured, everything they had overcome, everything that have changed, all in the space of a few short months. “My gods…we can do anything now. We can…” She laughed, struck by a sudden giddiness. “I don’t know what we can do! We’ve been doing this for so long, I can’t think of anything!”

“Hey, no need to get ahead of yourself,” he said, smiling soothingly. “Just…enjoy being back among the living.” She smiled back as he scooted closer to rest his chin on her shoulder. “Queen Ellesime’s said we can stay here if we like, and I’ll admit, I was personally hoping for a bit of a break. It might be nice. Besides…I hear the she’s got a great library.” He dangled the word in front of her like a hypnotist’s charm.

“You know me too well already.” Her stomach grumbled loudly, and she stood. “That’s it. I am starving.” She shot him a grin. “Wanna help me stage a raid on the royal larder?”

He grinned back. “So thieving _is_ hereditary, after all.”

“This is self-preservation,” she sniffed, peering out the doorway into the hall. “You in or out?”

“That’s a loaded question.” He couldn’t help himself.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, arching an eyebrow. “That it is. And if you’re nice to me, it may have multiple answers.” She disappeared into the corridor.

He stared at the empty doorway for a moment before springing from the bed after her. “Oh, I like where this conversation is going.”

 

II. Among the Living

\-----------------------------------------------------------

In the days that followed, Jaheira found herself, more than once, drawn to the ruined throne room. The blast of magical fire had charred the great branches of the Tree of Life, heat bubbles blistering the once smooth surface of the floor, and the few leaves that still clung to the burnt twigs overhead were curled and blackened.

“I am told that sometimes fire is a great necessity in nature.”

Jaheira turned, startled, and saw Demin in the doorway. The priestess smiled faintly and picked her way carefully over the sooty floor. “That is true,” Jaheira replied. “Fire clears the undergrowth that can choke the forest floor, and it enriches the soil for the next generation of trees.” She rested a hand on the nearest branch, feeling the faint pulse of life beneath the scorched bark. “This is only a wound. Already the sap begins to stir again.”

“That’s what Ellesime says. And she would be best placed to know, wouldn’t she?” Demin patted the branch with a familial air. “I understand you will be remaining with us for some time.”

“Yes. We discussed the Queen’s offer, and the general consensus was that none of us are eager to return to the road just yet. And we had all wanted to aid in the rebuilding…if we could.”

Demin smiled. “I am glad to hear it…that is actually why I sought you out.” Jaheira furrowed her brow, and Demin continued, “I had planned to begin the cleansing and reconsecration of the temple tomorrow. I would be grateful if you would join us. A druid of your talents would be welcome.”

Jaheira was not easily tongue-tied, but it took her a moment to blurt out, “Of course! I would be honored!”

The Whiteleaf’s smile broadened. “Good! You certainly would not be required to. There is no charge for room and board, after all.” She cast her eyes about the burnt tableau of Ellesime’s hall and sighed. “It is not as if some random catastrophe has visited us. We are left now with the consequences of choices made long ago. You would be perfectly within your rights to leave all these pieces to us, to fit back together as best we can, and I, for one, would be hard pressed to blame you.”

“I have never been one to lounge while others work. It is not in my nature.”

“No, I see that it is not.” They began to walk the length of the hall, and Demin looked at Jaheira with cool, assessing eyes. “You are part elven, but you have not been much amongst elves, have you, Jaheira?”

 _That_ qualified for speechlessness. Jaheira opened and closed her mouth a half dozen times before the words came to her. “No. I have not. I do not think my parents or any of their peers had a full human or elven ancestor for several generations.”

“Ah. So when I thought I detected something Tethyrian in your accent, I was correct. A great many in that country are of such mixed heritage, are they not?”

“Yes.” For a moment, Jaheira could see them again; her mother, elegant in her embroidered dresses and beautiful as a star, her father, who looked almost human, but who read to her in Elvish. She remembered the night she’d had to flee, and the haze of smoke over the stars. They were old memories, and she had grown accustomed to them. She did not think her face had moved, but Demin looked suddenly conscious.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I fear I have tread where I should not.”

“No offense taken,” Jaheira replied. “I feel I can learn a great deal here.”

Demin seemed to consider this. “Sometimes we forget the world here, among our trees. I think it is good for us, that you are here, and not just for what you have already done. After all, is not learning a reciprocal endeavor?”

Jaheira could not help but chuckle as they passed through the doorway. “That is a line of thought better suited for Maera than I.”

“Indeed! It has been some time since I’ve met an Oghmaite…I find their tenets fascinating…”

* * *

 

Kelsey was trying not to ogle, but he just couldn’t help himself. At that moment, Maera was leaning over a railing above him, hammer in hand, and the view was, in his biased opinion, rather spectacular. She glanced down at him, and made a face. “Forget something?” He grinned, grabbed the nails he had gone down to fetch, and hauled himself back up the ladder.

“Sorry. I got distracted.”

“By what?”

“You.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye with a faint smile, color rising in her cheeks. “We’re working right now, you know. But I will distract you to your heart’s content later.”

“Ooo, promise?”

“I am nothing if not a woman of my word,” she replied primly.

“Then I can wait.” He handed her the nails with a flourish and a grin. “Not well, but I can wait.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately. “You’re terrible.”

This house had not been as badly damaged as some, but its front door had been smashed in, and the frame broken. It should not have surprised Kelsey that Maera knew how to hang a door (though the shape of the elvish doors did give her momentary pause), but it had. “I spent nearly five years training with the Watchers, and they don’t just guard the Keep, they maintain it,” she’d explained, enjoying his astonishment when they began. “I’m also pretty good at repairing masonry. At least I used to be. I’m probably out of practice.”

They sat in the shade near the newly repaired door, alternating pulls from their waterskin. “You know, I’m thinking about growing my hair out,” Maera said. “The only reason I’ve kept it short is because it’s easier to take care of on the road, but if we’re going to be taking some time off from that, I thought, why not?”

“I think I’d like to see that,” Kelsey replied, reaching over to give her hair a gentle tug. It had grown to the point she could pull it into a small and ragged tail, which was how she wore it that morning. It was rather adorable like that, he thought, and then he had to chuckle to himself for applying the word ‘adorable’ to a woman who could kill a man in less than five seconds. “I mean, I love your hair no matter what you do with it. Though, please, don’t shave it off. I think I’d cry.”

“Only if you promise me the same!”

“Not to worry. I have it on excellent authority that baldness is a nigh unheard of rarity on both sides of my family.”

“Well, I can’t make any promises about mine, so maybe you shouldn’t get too attached to it,” she teased, taking another drink. “I also thought I might finally get my ears pierced.”

“Wait…” His brow knit, and he leaned towards her, inspecting her earlobe. “Your ears aren’t pierced?” He tugged it between thumb and forefinger. “How did I not notice this?”

She laughed. “Paying attention to other things?”

“But I…how did I…?”

His observational crisis was cut short as a pair of elven children dashed by, giggling madly. They concealed themselves somewhat poorly in the bushes, still chortling. In a moment, the reason for their glee bounded into view.

“Maera! Kelsey!” Minsc boomed. “Have you seen two very small elf people?” He didn’t seem to notice that the bushes were snickering.

“Why, Minsc?” Kelsey asked. “Do they owe you money?” The bushes suffered another burst of hilarity.

“Oh no! They think they can hide from the sharp eyes of Minsc and Boo! Little do they know that I was the finest player of hide and seek in all of Rashemen!”

“Boy, they don’t stand a chance, do they?” Maera asked, eyes wide. The laughter had devolved into a cackle.

“None at all.” Minsc folded his arms in a superior fashion, and the hamster on his shoulder looked as smug as it was possible for a rodent to do.

“Well, I’m sure they will soon learn the error of their ways, Minsc,” Maera said. “In the meantime, I think those bushes are laughing at you.” She stood, gathering the tools, and she and Kelsey strolled towards the next house on their list, leaving Minsc and his small adversaries to their next round of hide and seek.

* * *

 

In another life, Solaufein had never hidden in the shadows.

He had been a visible figure, a favored son, a male to be reckoned with. What he did was for all to see, the better to enforce the rule of the Matrons of Ust Natha. Some lessons were, by necessity, best taught from the darkness, but not his. He was known to all, respected and feared.

But that was another life.

Here, the elves watched him suspiciously; wary that all behaviors up to that point had been lies, and that any moment might be the one he chose to turn on them all. It did not seem to matter that he was one and they were many; he no doubt possessed dark magicks far beyond their imagining. And his as well, for what it was worth, but pointing that out would likely do his cause no favors.

And it was not just the people, it was the place, as well. The sky crouched over him, endless and empty, and his head still ached most days, his eyes overwhelmed by the light of the sun. There was constant sound in Suldanessellar, beyond the noise of people going about their day-to-day lives. The wind shook the trees and grasses, and the creatures of the land and air never ceased their calling, singing, snorting, and growling. He wondered if there was any place on the surface that could ever match the silence of the deep caves. Sometimes, he missed it.

But the surface was not without its charms. The cycle of day and night fascinated him; the idea of living life bound by the waxing and waning of light was alien, but interesting. And there was night itself. Maera had told him that surfacers both feared and loved the night, and he could well believe it. At night, the sky filled with jewel-like stars, and the moon beloved of his goddess rode the heavens like a ship cleaving the waves of a great lake. It was not until he had witnessed the sight for himself that he finally understood why dancing under the moon's light was a sacrament of Lady Silverhair. He was closer to her here. That was, in and of itself, a gift.

He had taken shelter from the sun that afternoon under the porch of an abandoned house a few levels below the Temple, and that was where the druid found him. He knew her only vaguely, more from Maera’s description than any actual interaction with her, though he had seen her around the Temple of Rillifane a great deal. “There you are,” she said. “I had been looking for you.”

His mind ran through a web of alliances and interactions, and he vocalized the first conclusion it came to. “Is the Whiteleaf having me watched?” he asked.

“Not to my knowledge,” she replied, completely unruffled by the intimation. “Should she?”

He shrugged. "After the incident at the Temple earlier this week, I thought she might have lost confidence in my ability to avoid trouble.” He hoped he didn't look as sour as he felt. A few days prior, he had let a pair of cocksure young soldiers goad him into raising his hand. (They really did need to work on their hand-to-hand training.) The altercation had distressed Demin, and, much to his surprise, he found that fact more bothersome than the incident itself. He had found an unexpected ally in the Whiteleaf, and he knew better (or at least hoped he knew better) than to squander that. He turned his attention back to Jaheira, raising an eyebrow. “Is there a reason you have sought me out, Lady Druid?”

She handed him a small glass bottle, filled with a milky liquid. His other eyebrow joined the first. “It is a remedy for the eyestrain headaches you have suffered. Two or three spoonfuls will dull the pain quite effectively, but if it is taken at the onset of the headache, you may avoid it altogether.”

He turned the bottle over in his hands, trying desperately to find something to say in response. He had found himself at a loss for words entirely too many times in recent days. But a booming sound, a hollow, ceramic clang echoing from the level below them saved him from having to make an answer.

Jaheira leaned over the railing with momentary concern, but then she smiled, and unable to contain his intrigue, Solaufein shaded his eyes and joined her. Below them was one of Irenicus’s golems. Ten feet of roughly shaped clay, it was scarred with the evidence of the battle that had destroyed it - chunks of it had been hewn away by sword and mace, and a variety of magical fire had scorched the pinkish-white clay deep red and black. Clustered about it were a half dozen of the city guard, and a pair of familiar humans. Maera and Minsc were always striking by virtue of their height, but they were even more notable that day, as he was stripped to the waist, and she had preserved her modesty only by the cloth that bound her breasts. The elven soldiers were in a similar state of semi-dress, and the accouterments that surrounded them - hammers and blocks, skids and rigging of leather and rope - suddenly gave the whole scene context. The monstrous thing was too large and heavy to be practically disposed of whole, and it had fallen to these strong-bodied few to break it.

Solaufein and Jaheira were not the only spectators drawn by the noise. Along the rails of levels opposite them and above, the citizens of Suldanessellar paused to watch. A loud wolf whistle cut through the babble of overlapping conversation; its source was easy to spot. Standing on the rail above and to their left, the little female mage (Maera's sister, his internal notes reminded him) catcalled down something in Common that Solaufein didn't entirely understand. The sorcerer stood to her side with his hand over his face, the very picture of acute embarrassment, though it did not stop him from peering between his fingers with interest at Maera's attire. Maera shouted something back about not making a certain gesture because children might be watching, and Jaheira chuckled and shook her head.

"They are incorrigible. But then, they are young," she said, and even though he was not sure she was actually addressing him, Solaufein replied.

"I do not have a wide experience on the subject, but it seems that where humans are concerned, age is most relative." Maera waved up at Imoen and Kelsey, and the young sorcerer rested his forearms on the railing with a smile of unadorned affection, but Imoen, satisfied that she had made a pest of herself, grabbed his arm and began to drag him off towards their original destination, which appeared to be the Collegium, where Suldanessellar's wizards honed their art.

Jaheira smiled faintly. "Humans talk about 'old souls'. It is how they explain those who are more knowing than their years can account for. Most of the time, I do not take such descriptions with much faith, but I think it would make a certain sense in her case." Below them, Minsc raised his hammer once more, and the golem's knee joint cracked cleanly from the force of the blow. Maera and a trio of soldiers bound up the limb and dragged it onto the waiting skid to be hauled away.

"So it would seem." Solaufein glanced down at the bottle in his hand. "Why did you give me this?"

"Regardless of what Maera may have told you, I do not _enjoy_ the suffering of others." She was still smiling, but her brown eyes were sharp. "I have seen you about the Temple, and the city. In remaining here, you are attempting to do something few would have the courage to do. Druids measure others by their actions. Your actions have said much of you." She looked back down over the rail, and as she turned to depart, she added, "Your eyes will adapt, Solaufein. And I imagine you shall as well. That is what life does."

* * *

 

Imoen had never been in an open-air library before, but if anyone could manage such a seemingly impossible feat, it would be the elves. Ellesime had placed no restriction on their use of it, and its curving shelves contained the fruits of centuries of concerted book collecting. The sisters from Candlekeep hunted through the stacks, tucking interesting volumes under their arms, only to replace them when they discovered something marginally more fascinating.

Imoen had settled into a ridiculously comfortable chair to dig into a really promising book about the alternate uses of certain material spell components when she heard movement near the door. She looked up, and beamed at the newcomer. "Heya, Kelsey! I'm glad you stopped by."

Kelsey gave her a faintly suspicious look. "Was that sarcasm?"

"No!" She stuck out her tongue. "I found something you might be interested in." She hopped to her feet and scrabbled through the pile of books on the table beside her until she recovered the one in question, which she extended to him. "How's your written Elvish?"

"Pretty good. Though I'm a little out of practice."

"Well, brush up on this." He took the book and read the cover, his lips moving as he translated.

" _On the Theory and Practice of Spontaneous Magic_ ," he read. He looked up at her, surprise writ all over his face. "Imoen, is this about sorcery?"

"Yep," she grinned. He stared at her, and her smile widened. "You know you wanna hug me."

"You know...I think I do.” He laughed and embraced her. “Thank you, Imoen."

She settled back into her chair, still beaming. “Let me know if it’s useful.”

“Absolutely.” He left her to her book, and wandered back through the shelves, admiring their graceful, organic shapes. They fitted against the tree branches as if they had been grown from them, and for all he knew, they had. He rounded a trunk circled in books like a spiral stair, and saw Maera, trailing her fingers along the spines of the tomes before her with one hand while chewing on the thumb of her other. He smiled to himself, and waited for her to notice him.

It took her a few moments, but she glanced back, and started happily at the sight of him. "Hey, you." She looked down, noting the book in his hand. "Find something already?"

"Imoen did, actually. Apparently, it's about sorcery."

"Ooo, that ought to be an interesting read."

"I hope so." He nodded towards the shelf beside her. “What about you?”

“Oh, too many to choose from! This entire section is devoted to swordplay. Different styles, different mechanics…there’s even one on the Kara-turan katana, like Yoshimo’s. And this one!” She held up a volume that was nearly a handspan thick. “This is the collected writings of four consecutive heads of a martial monastery near Neverwinter. I’ve always been fascinated by that kind of-” She cut herself off suddenly, looking self-conscious. “What?”

He realized he was grinning at her. “What? Nothing!” He reached out, taking one of her hands in his. “You’re happy, and you’re having a good time, and I’m glad. That’s all.”

"Well…yeah, I am.” She smiled back cheerfully, then her expression softened, and she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. “I've missed the smell of books. Leather and vellum and ink. Illuminating paints. Brings back memories." She raised her free hand to touch the book spines again with a gentleness bordering on reverence. "And I've missed having the time to read. Though on the road, it's not so much the time, it's...” She chuckled distantly. "Well, books are heavy. Gotta travel light. Can't leave things behind."

Her tone was airy, but the words were suffused with a wash of sadness, like light shone through blued glass. "That’s true, I guess,” Kelsey replied. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” Something behind her words needled at him, and he wasn't quite sure what it was. He gave her a quick smile. "I'll leave you to your reading." She returned the smile and kissed him in farewell.

He left the library, the end of the exchange nagging him, irritating as a loosened tooth. By the time he reached their room, he had figured out a solution. Setting the book on sorcery aside, he found a sheet of parchment and sharpened his pen. He had a letter to write.

* * *

 

Maera had just wormed her way into the most comfortable position she could manage, when she noticed the angle of the sunlight streaming through the windows. She sat up suddenly, dislodging Kelsey's arm and swearing.

He blinked at her fuzzily. "What's wrong?"

"I'm supposed to meet Elhan this afternoon!" She rolled out of the bed and began rifling through the discarded clothes on the floor for her underwear. "He wanted me to spar with some of his officers."

"That was today?" Kelsey propped himself up on his forearms. "Honey, I'm sorry, we probably shouldn't have-"

She snatched her shirt off the floor and draped it over her shoulder as she began lacing up her leather leggings. "No apologies," she said, shooting him a quick smile. "I'll just have to come up with an excuse that doesn't involve nudity." She tugged on her shirt, dragged her fingers through her hair, and sat to quickly yank on her boots before leaning over to kiss him as swiftly as she could manage.

"Have fun," he said, smiling. "Try not to hurt anyone too much."

"If anyone gets hurt, it'll be their own fault," she scoffed.

She was still buckling on her swordbelt as she strode down the hall, when a soft voice accosted her. "Maera. Might I have a moment?"

Maera stopped short. “Oh! Elles- Your Majesty.”

“Just Ellesime is fine,” the Queen said with a smile. “I would hate for someone who has saved my life to feel she must be formal. May I walk with you?"

“Of course!”

Ellesime began to walk beside her, smoothing her skirts fastidiously. Just as the silence stretched almost to the point of awkwardness, she said, “I confess I did not seek you out with idle conversation in mind.” Maera remained silent, waiting for her to continue. “I have been thinking on the nature of divinity, and what it means to be a mortal child of such origins.”

“Heady subject matter for an afternoon stroll.”

Ellesime inclined her head. “It is that. But I would not be amiss in guessing it is never far from your thoughts either?”

Maera shook her head with a rueful laugh. “I don’t know if I’d be comfortable drawing a lot of parallels between you and me.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, for one…it’s obvious that Rillifane loves you. To Bhaal…me, Imoen, even Sarevok…we’re just means to an end. Our lives don’t matter. So for me, all I have is trying to make my life matter to me.” Maera cast her eyes towards the Queen. “But you were a gift to the people of Suldanessellar. And the Leaflord cares. About you and them. We were both born with a purpose. You just don’t mind fulfilling yours.” She coughed self-consciously. “You don’t, right?”

“This city is my joy,” Ellesime said, without hesitation. Her voice softened. “Which is why I have much to atone for.” She looked up at Maera thoughtfully “But I should think you are a gift in your own way, however unintended. There are others of your kin who seem more than happy to follow the narrow path your sire intended for his children. Most of us never push at the boundaries fate places around us.”

“I don’t really know any other Bhaalspawn, so I’m not sure I’d want to put myself on that pedestal,” Maera said. Then a thought occurred to her, and she narrowed her eyes, suddenly disquieted. “But there are others out there. I know there are. And you're talking about them in the present tense. Do you know something about them, Ellesime?”

Ellesime glanced to the side. “I know…rumor, and supposition. And as you know, that is hardly the basis of real, usable knowledge.”

Maera was not comforted by this. “But?”

The Queen did not respond for a moment, and just when Maera was sure she would not reply, she said quietly, “There has been…talk of armies, in the south, in Tethyr, and Calimshan. But I would not waste worry on it. That region is notoriously unsettled, even now.” She shook her head with forced brightness. “I understand you have an appointment, and I have detained you. My apologies. Please, allow me to take the blame with General Elhan for your tardiness.”

Maera flushed. “Well, it’s not really your fault, Ellesime.”

“Please.” Ellesime’s eyes were intent. “I have failed for too long in that regard.” She smiled sadly. “Perhaps if I start small, I can yet learn.”

* * *

 

Maera found Imoen lounging near a fountain wearing a very short tunic and not much else. “Encouraging your fan club again, Im?” she asked. In the weeks they’d been in Suldanessellar, Imoen had developed a devoted cadre of followers amongst the younger members of the Collegium. She maintained it was all purely intellectual camaraderie, but Maera wasn’t fooled. At the Midsummer celebration the previous week, Madeth and another young mage had nearly come to blows over who got to dance with her first.

“Just getting a little sun,” Imoen replied innocently. She leaned back, and stretched. “So…how’s your research going?”

“Research?” Maera asked, puzzled.

“I thought you and Kelsey were involved in a joint study on the durability of elvish mattresses,” Imoen said. “It seemed pretty intensive. Especially since last week. He really liked that dress, didn’t he?”

Maera gave her a long, flat look. So that was how it was going to be. "I could answer that question with a level of detail that would make you very uncomfortable. You know that, right?"

"True, but we also know I have a much higher embarrassment tolerance than you do." Imoen gazed back with equal severity.

Maera shook her head, unable to keep a grin at bay. “How about we skip that part and just go straight to me kicking your ass?"

Imoen smirked and rolled into an easy handstand on the back of her seat. “Gotta catch me first.” With that, she pushed herself up, landing lightly on her feet. She stuck out her tongue and dashed off, Maera in pursuit. “You’re old and slow, Mae!” she called, bounding over the garden terrace. They wove around railings and tore through the trees, leaping from walkway to walkway. Not far from the Temple of Rillifane, Maera finally made a successful grab for Imoen’s shoulder, and they both went down, laughing and swearing at each other.

“Old and slow, huh?” Maera crowed, pinning Imoen face down in the grass. “Who wins, brat?” She became aware of watching eyes, and noticed a cluster of young elves gathered at the railing of the level above them, watching intently. She recognized Madeth and Velkin among them and laughed. “Looks like we’re giving your admirers an eyeful, Im.”

Imoen turned her head, spitting out grass, and grinned. “Maybe we should kiss or something. That’d get a reaction.”

“Sorry, Im,” Maera said, releasing her sister and stretching out beside her, “You know I like boys better.”

“Aw, man,” Imoen whined in mock disappointment. “What’s a girl gotta do around here to get some action?”

“Ask them,” Maera said, casting a significant look towards the spectators. Imoen leered in response. Their audience above began to disperse, obviously disappointed that the show was over.

They lay in the sun, the silence comfortable and companionable. The breeze was light and smelled of green growth, and Maera could almost feel the beginnings of a nap tugging at her when Imoen spoke. “I really like it here,” she said softly

“Yeah, me too. Feels like forever since we’ve been able to take it easy.”

“When we do leave, where do you wanna go?”

“I dunno…I was thinking about heading back up north. Kelsey suggested going to the Deepwash. His…um, his mother lives up there.” Maera’s face was hot, and Imoen snickered.

“Oh ho ho, meeting Mom, huh? That’s a big step!”

Maera stuck out her tongue. “There’s more to it than that.”

“I figured.” Imoen patted Maera’s hand. “I know I give you a hard time, but you two have a good thing going, and I’m happy for you.”

Maera smiled. “Thanks, Im.”

They were quiet again when Imoen asked, her voice gone very small, “Mae? How do you know if a dream you’ve had is a Bhaal dream, and not just a nightmare?”

“If you’ve had one, you’d know.”

“I was afraid of that.”

Propping herself up on an elbow, Maera looked at her sister, concerned. “Why? What did you dream?”

“I…I was standing in front of the palace. The sky was dark, cloudy like it was going to storm. There was thunder in the distance, or maybe it was marching feet. And there was a voice. I’ve never heard it before, but I recognized it anyway. It said the Children’s time had come. And then it started to rain.” She shifted uncomfortably, picking at the grass. “It started to rain blood. And you were there, standing in the rain, holding your sword. Laughing.”

Maera sat up, and wordlessly held out her arms, an icy chill running down her spine to settle like a frozen weight in her stomach. Imoen scooted closer and rested her head on her shoulder. “When did you dream that?” Maera whispered.

“Last night.”

“Have you had any other dreams like it?”

“Not yet.”

 _Not yet._ Maera wrapped her arms around Imoen’s waist, and they sat huddled together in the summer grass as if freezing.

 

III. Rivers of Blood

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Maera had had the monopoly on bad dreams for so long, Imoen guessed it was only fair she should have some of her own. That was, of course, the logical response, which came to her after thinking about the situation in a rational and intelligent manner. But in the mornings when she woke from visions of floating on a river of blood and killing her friends with a dagger of bone, she wished profoundly that Bhaal would keep it to himself.

But it was never as bad in the daylight, so as she and Minsc wandered the bazaar on the forest floor on market day, her mind was more pleasantly occupied with the sunbeams cutting through the morning haze and amiable babble of voices. Tents and stalls in a variety of lush and vibrant colors dotted the flowering grass, and the trees of Suldanessellar towered above them. From the ground, the city stretched upwards for hundreds of feet. It was enough to make anyone feel small.

Except perhaps Minsc, who informed her solemnly, “The squirrels are laughing at us.”

“Eh, let ‘em. What do we care?”

“Squirrels carry stories. Better that they should extol the bravery of Minsc and Boo and little Imoen then make fun!” He glowered up at his bushy-tailed mockers.

“I think our reputations will survive a little forest gossip, Minsc,” she soothed him. She stopped at a fabric stall, and fingered a rich olive green silk that would suit Jaheira’s coloring nicely. As the proprietor measured out cloth for another customer, she heard him say, “Like Maera?”

Curiosity piqued, Imoen drifted closer. “No, not like her at all,” the customer said, her voice hushed. “More like that one in Baldur’s Gate.”

The shopkeep shook his head. “I thank Rillifane for Maera, but all the same, you can’t trust that lineage.” The customer glanced at Imoen and did not reply.

She backed away, discomfited. Outside a spice merchant’s tent, another pair of locals watched her as they spoke, only to look away as soon as she glanced towards them. Something was wrong. What had everyone on edge? Spotting Velkin near another stall, she was relieved to see a more friendly face, but her wave was answered only half-heartedly. He turned to go, but she charged after him with a burst of short-legged speed and grabbed his sleeve. “Velkin, what’s the deal? Why’s everybody looking at me funny this morning?”

The young mage swallowed. “You haven’t heard?”

“If I had, would I be asking?” she snapped, channeling her inner Maera.

He looked about nervously, and lowered his voice. “A human caravan arrived this morning. From Tethyr, Saradush, I think. They were all talking about how the city is filling up with refugees because an army appeared out of nowhere last month and has started laying waste to the countryside down there, slowly working their way north. And…” His eyes darted, and he licked his lips. “And they say the leaders of this army claim to be Children of Bhaal. Like you, and Maera.”

Her stomach turned to lead. Over Velkin’s shoulder, she saw a familiar red head. Kelsey, his face grave, was weaving through the crowd. Looking for Maera, no doubt. _Rivers of blood,_ she thought.

* * *

 

Since the reconsecration of the Temple, Demin had been able to return to her normal routine – rise early, lead the morning worship, deal with administrative matters, oversee the evening rites, and handle anything else that should happen to come up during the day. And twice weekly, she met with Ellesime for tea, to discuss matters both civic and personal. But that particular day, she paused as she approached her friend’s chamber, because Elhan was exiting. That was unusual. If he had business with Ellesime, he typically met with her earlier in the morning.

His face was grave as he nodded to her, but he did not speak. Uneasy, Demin entered to find Ellesime facing the open window, her arms crossed before her. “Ellesime?” She closed the door carefully behind her. “Is something wrong?”

The Queen did not turn. “Elhan has grown more wary of the world lately. It would do him well to take some leave, I think.”

Demin looked down at the tea table. A map was spread open, showing the Heartwoods and Forest of Tethir, as well as the countries to the south. Someone had drawn a circle around the city of Saradush. “I’ve heard the rumors too, Ellesime.”

“It’s a shame, really. Stability had so recently returned to Tethyr. Now it’s as if the civil war never really ended.”

“This isn’t the same, though, is it?”

Ellesime sighed, and finally turned to face her. “No, it is not. And it is more than rumor. Elhan has a verified account now that the leaders of this army _are_ claiming to be Bhaalspawn. Short of divination, there is no way to be sure, but ultimately, that does not matter. As long as their claims are believed, people will either flee from or flock to their banners.”

Demin let out a long breath and sat slowly on the divan. “War is never to be desired, but this will change the complexion of it considerably.”

“It’s worse than that.” Ellesime plucked a battered sheet of parchment from under the map and handed it to Demin. “Apparently, these have been found in towns and villages throughout the area. Your friend got this one from a caravan master who arrived earlier this week. He's quite skilled at obtaining information.”

"My frie-" Demin frowned peevishly. So she had taken it on herself to keep Solaufein out of trouble. What of it?

She gave an irritated huff, and examined the page. It was a broadside, and her fingers shook slightly as she unfolded it and saw the black skull sigil of Bhaal emblazoned across it, its brief message repeated in Common, Elvish, Dwarven, and surprisingly enough, Orcish. She swallowed and quickly tucked it back under the map, but the words were already ringing in her mind.

“The time of the Children of Bhaal has come. There will be no sanctuary or haven before our coming.”

* * *

 

In her dreams, Suldanessellar was burning.

The air, hot as the blast from a dragon’s throat, burned her nose. Bits of burning leaves floated to the ground at her feet like slowly falling stars. Maera saw five figures arrayed against the backdrop of flame. Their shapes and sizes varied wildly, but she could sense the taint of Bhaal within them all, as surely as if it had been a scent on the wind or a brand on their foreheads. Her Slayer-self stood there, arms crossed nonchalantly before the tableau of destruction.

“There are so very many of us. But as in all things, some are stronger than others. A few are greater than the many. Only a few of us truly have what it takes. To triumph. To ascend.” She jerked her head back towards the motionless Bhaalspawn. “They do. And you might. Because the time is coming. In fact, it’s already here. But if you persist in preferring a soft bed and that redheaded sextoy of yours, you’ll be swept aside in the flood. Smashed on the rocks, and no one will look back as they step over your corpse. You and all those darling innocents you worry over so. You bleed to protect them when they just get in your way.” Her look of disgust melted into cunning consideration. “Of course, that’s only one possibility. You still have options. You value your strength. I know you do.” She smiled darkly. “After all, I _am_ you. You can do so much now. Think of what you could do if you just opened your hand.” Her arm extended, and the fingers of her right hand slowly unfolded. The palm was wet with blood. “Come to me. Become the Child of Murder you were meant to be. And let them all burn.”

Maera awoke with a jolt, and for an instant, everything still seemed lit by licking flames. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, all she saw was the now-familiar pattern of leaves on the ceiling.

Kelsey shifted beside her. “You okay?” he slurred sleepily.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” She covered her face with her hands, breathing deeply.

He rolled onto his side facing her, and she curled up in his embrace. “Been a while since you’ve had a bad dream,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “I got spoiled.”

“I’m glad you’re here, though. It helps.”

“Good,” he breathed, already back on the verge of sleep. She laid in his arms, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart and the counterpoint of his even breathing. The rasping hum of the crickets wafted through the open windows on the cool midnight breeze. Suldanessellar was quiet, and at peace. _You’re wrong_ , she thought to the Slayer within, _I bleed to protect these people because they deserve it. But_ … She sighed. _But there’s more than one way to protect them._

Her eyes burned suddenly with tears eager to be shed, and she pressed her face against Kelsey’s neck. She wanted to laugh at herself, abuse herself for a fool. She had thought it was over after Sarevok, too, hadn’t she? And for a little while, it had been. This was no different. Bhaal was dead, but she still couldn’t outrun him.

* * *

 

Maera was already up when Kelsey woke the next morning, but she hadn’t gone far. She sat in front of the dressing table, staring into the mirror, and he smiled for a moment. He really could get used to this sort of domesticity. Being with her made it easy. But then he noted the expression on her face, and his smile slid away.

She held a pair of scissors in one hand, and her eyes were lost and melancholy. She noticed the movement as he sat up, and said softly, “I’m going to have to cut my hair.”

Maybe he wasn’t quite awake yet. He got up, and sat beside her on the vanity bench. “Um…okay.” He rubbed his eyes. “I thought you said…well, it’s your hair.”

“I have to. We’re gonna have to leave soon.”

“We are?” Now he was sure he wasn’t fully awake. “Why do you say tha…” The realization dawned. “Was it the dream you had last night?”

She nodded miserably. “As long as Imoen and I are here, Suldanessellar is in danger. They’re coming for us.”

A chill slid down his spine. “Who’s ‘they’?”

“I don’t know exactly,” she whispered. “Other Bhaalspawn.” She turned her head, tears in her eyes. “I just wanted this to be over, Kelsey. I just wanted my own life.”

He pulled her close as her voice broke, kissing her hair, murmuring endearments. “It’s okay, honey…it’ll be okay.”

“How?!” she cried.

“I don’t know yet,” he said softly. “But it will be. And I like your hair short, so that’s okay, too.” He took her face between his hands and tried for a smile, which she eventually returned with much effort and some sniffling.

“Thank you,” she said with a small, damp chuckle. She turned her eyes back to her reflection. “Gods, some hero, huh?”

“Best kind of hero,” he replied. She looked puzzled “You don’t buy your own advertising.”

She smiled weakly, but the spark was already returning to her eyes. “Why should I? All my advertising says I can be bought in bulk.”

“You can’t? I’ve been misled!”

“Sorry about that,” she said, standing. “But I'm afraid there are no refunds.”

He had to consciously force his grin not to stretch from ear to ear. It was the moments like this that made him certain to his very core that walking up to her that day in the Government District was the best decision he had ever made in his entire life. “I love you.” She smiled again, grateful, knowing, and warm. She sighed resolutely and began to get dressed, rolling her shoulders absently. Even as he watched her, his heart full, a familiar anger rekindled inside him, lashing out at the wrongness of it all. She deserved so much more than to be at the mercy of dreams and prophecies, a pawn in some sort of celestial power play. _You’ll have your own life, Maera_ , he thought. _I don’t care what I have to do, but I will make sure you do._

* * *

 

Maera sat on the divan in Ellesime’s chamber, staring into her cup of tea. “I really can’t thank you enough, Ellesime. Your generosity has been amazing.”

The Queen laughed softly. “I would accept your thanks and say that you are very welcome, if not for the fact that you are the one who fixed my door.”

“That was no big deal,” Maera said, bewildered. “It just needed new hinges.”

“My point being,” Ellesime continued, “that my generosity has been, in attempt at least, proportionate to your own.”

“Well, I don’t really do idle,” Maera muttered uncomfortably. “I get bored.”

“Then let us thank the Oak for that.” Ellesime smiled and freshened both their cups. She took a sip, looking at Maera from across the rim of her teacup. “Where will you go?”

“I’m not sure. We're needed in that mess to the south, I know that, but… We need more information, and I don’t want to wade into a war zone to get it.”

Ellesime pursed her lips in considered silence. “If it is guidance you seek, I may know of a source for that. There is an oracle grove to the south; I can make no promises regarding the Ancients’ aid, but even a general direction is better than none at all.” She fixed her green-gold eyes on Maera and added softly, “You said that you were born for a purpose, but that you did not wish to fulfill it. I believe that very soon, you will find that you are intended for greater things than ever Bhaal imagined.”

* * *

 

They left in the predawn glow of a fine, late summer morning a few days later, having made their farewells with as little fanfare as possible. Maera gazed back at Suldanessellar, at the soaring trees that had been their refuge from the world, even if only for an all-too brief time. As the city gates swung shut behind them, Maera couldn’t help but remember the gates of Candlekeep, and feeling that, once again, fate was pushing her along like a hurricane wind at her back. The wheels that had begun turning that day had brought her to this point, and they were spinning faster and faster with every passing moment. This was only the beginning of the end.

Now what the end was; that was the real question.

 


	24. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Greetings, godchild.”_

A low rumble of thunder echoed through the dark clouds that hung bare inches above the tops of the half-dead trees. Maera kicked despondently at the damp moss. “Well, thanks for trying, Ellesime,” she sighed, giving the now-silent stone heads a dark glare. “Putting what I already know in a nice meter does not make it new information!” she informed them hotly. They did not deign to respond to her critique. She heaved another sigh, looking at her companions as she sat heavily on a nearby stump. “So now what?” Her only answer was another roll of thunder, and then the sky opened.

Jaheira flipped up her hood, and, with a disapproving look, did the same for Maera when she made no move to do so herself. “I suppose our best course of action would be to head south into Tethyr.”

“Saradush, right?” Maera rubbed her face, nearly pushing her hood back again. She caught it at the sight of Jaheira’s sternly raised eyebrow, and tried not to look petulant.

“That was the name that kept cropping up,” Imoen said, her expression freely indulging in petulance. She hated getting rained on.

“It’s been a few years since I’ve been to there, but I do know the way,” Kelsey volunteered.

Maera stood, nodding and straightening her shoulders. “Yeah. I guess that is our best option. I just wish that…” She turned, and saw Minsc staring watchfully into the trees. “What’s wrong, Minsc?”

The ranger lifted his cupped hands to his ear, and nodded. “We are being watched. Boo agrees.”

Maera closed her hand on Daystar’s hilt as she crossed to Minsc’s side, unable to see whatever signs he did. “How many?”

He slipped the hamster into one of his many belt pouches. “Four or five. We are not completely sure.”

“Spread out, or in a group?”

“The main group is ahead, but there are two more behind.”

She patted his upper arm, nodding. “If it gets ugly, you take care of those two. Keep them off Im and Kelsey.” She took a step forward and raised her voice. “I know you’re out there. Experience has made me leery of people who lurk in the woods, so either move on, or come out and chat.”

Silence, and then there was a rustle in the trees as a female figure stepped into the clearing, flanked on either side by a pair of heavy, hooded men, and movement behind indicated the others Minsc had noticed. Hired muscle, Maera thought; the woman was the important one. She was human, of medium height, her sleek, close-cut black hair plastered to her face by the rain, a disdainful sneer curling her mouth. She probably would have been rather lovely if not for the expression, and the heavy makeup the rain sent in rivulets down her face. “Maera of Candlekeep. I've been looking for you. But I’m afraid I was expecting something grander.”

“Everybody always says that. I’m starting to get a complex.”

“That’s of little matter to me. And it will be to you too, after I kill you.”

Maera cocked her head. “Right to the point. You know, it’s nice to deal with a professional.”

This sally won her a raised eyebrow. “I had heard you think yourself humorous. I see my sources were correct.”

“Oh, I wasn’t trying to be funny. I meant it. You’ll have to excuse me if I still don’t take you seriously, though. Over the past few years, I’ve had a lot of people walk up to me, announce they were going to kill me, and then fail to do so. Makes it difficult to get too worked up about it.”

“You have no idea who I am, do you?”

“Should I?”

“Gods, you can’t even recognize another Bhaalspawn when you see one. And everyone was so agitated about you, so worried over what you could do to our plans. Like you were some sort of bogeyman to frighten naughty children.” Her expression shifted from disdain to amused condescension. “But the pathetic truth stands before me. You’re no different from the rest of the cattle.”

“Watch who you’re calling a cow, lady,” Imoen muttered darkly.

“Another Bhaalspawn looking to kill me,” Maera mused, keeping her eyes on the other woman. “So this is what we do? Wander around murdering each other because that’s what Daddy would want? I’ve never been able to figure out why we should care so much about his opinion.”

“As he is dead, Bhaal’s opinion counts for little. We are far more interested in what he left behind.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

A slow, mocking smile slid over the woman’s lips. “You are not the only one who has made an alliance among our kin. Your past behavior has made it clear to us that you pose a threat, so I have been sent to…handle you.”

Behind her, Maera heard Kelsey snort quietly. “Good luck with that,” he said under his breath. The woman raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, but did not move her gaze from Maera.

“The world is watching us,” she continued. “Waiting. Even the gods themselves do not know what we might do. Or even what we are truly capable of. Isn’t it nice to be a part of history? You, of course, will only be a footnote, but everyone has their place.”

A gust of wind made a hollow rattle in the bare branches. Maera sighed. She had not, until very recently, given much thought to what her interactions with other Bhaalspawn might be like, but this was not setting an encouraging precedent. She drew her sword. “Look, you say you’re here to try and kill me, so let’s get on with it, shall we?”

“Very well.” Almost too quickly to be seen, the woman drew a pair of long knives, raising her off hand above her head as she spoke. “I am Illasera the Quick, and I have been charged with ending your life. Defend yourself. Not that it will do you much good.”

Maera suddenly smiled. “Do you always trash talk this much, or do you just like me?”

Illasera had not come by her title ironically. She was fast, she was accurate, and she was obviously very experienced. She spun and turned, light on her feet as a cat, magic blurring her image. She changed up her parries, catching blows on the edge of one blade, then both. Maera’s own style relied on swiftness and while matching herself against a skilled opponent was always an undeniable pleasure, she knew she couldn’t afford to get carried away. Her reach was longer, but Daystar was heavier. She would tire first. She had to keep her eyes open for a break.

Jaheira engaged the fighter to Illasera’s right, landing a succession of swift blows to his torso. He obviously wasn’t well practiced against a staff user. His loss, Maera thought, smiling grimly. From behind her, she heard Minsc’s cheerful battlecry; he was more than enough to keep the other two occupied, keeping Imoen and Kelsey free from worrying about a close defense. A sizzle and scream made that clear.

That was the nice thing about magical fire. Rain didn’t really pose that much of a problem.

Illasera half-turned, and for a moment, Maera thought the other Bhaalspawn was simply trying to upset her footing on the slick grass, but then she realized she was being positioned. The other goon could come at her flank. From the corner of her eye, she could see Imoen and Kelsey, a bluish half-globe of Imoen’s making surrounding them. Kelsey’s head turned, and understanding crossed his face. He raised his hands, and she recognized the gesture. Fireball. Time to get out of the way. There was no turning her opponent, so back was her only option. She swung hard, pushing Illasera back only a step, but it was enough. Illasera bared her teeth in a frustrated grimace, and she slashed quickly at Maera’s midsection. She parried the lead blade, but Illasera’s off hand sliced down, and she had just enough time to move –

“Maera! Down!” A footstep behind her, and Jaheira’s voice ringing with authority kicked her body into motion before her mind even got involved. She dropped to one knee, ducking as six feet of solid, Rillifane-blessed oak sailed over her head with a wet buzz, catching Illasera squarely across the temple and doing very ugly things to her skull.

“Another Child of Bhaal, huh?” Imoen poked the twitching body of Illasera the Quick with the end of her bow.

Maera shrugged as she sheathed her sword, noting gladly that no one seemed to be seriously injured, though Minsc would be pounding dents out of his armor again at the first opportunity. “She was delightful, I’ll give her that.”

“She said she’d been sent,” Kelsey noted. “By who?”

“A cheerful thought for a cheerful day,” Maera replied dourly. “Come on. All we’re doing here is getting wetter.”

She oriented herself south, took a step…and for an instant, her vision went dark. She blinked hard, shaking her head. “Something wrong, Mae?” Imoen asked.

“I’m okay,” she said, giving her eyes a quick rub. She walked a few more steps, and the darkness returned, but it was not the dark of blindness. She was looking into a room, darker even than the gray out-of-doors. She caught a brief impression of carved columns of snowflake obsidian before her awareness returned to the clearing again.

“Maera?” Jaheira’s tone was one of stern worry. “Are you sure you were not injured?”

“I’m fine, Jaheira, I promise, I just- ”Another step, and suddenly, she felt as though a great hand grabbed her by the belt and pulled with all its strength. The feeling of momentum ceased as quickly as it had begun, and as it did, she realized she was standing in the great, dark room with her companions, rainwater still dripping from their cloaks. There was a smooth, polished floor of dark marble under their feet instead of the sodden forest floor, and the columns she had seen a moment before stretched up to an unseen ceiling. It seemed to be growing lighter, which she rationalized as getting used to the gloom, until she turned around.

“Greetings, godchild.”

Even if she had never seen an image of a solar, never heard a description of one, she was sure she would have still recognized the celestial being for what she was. An immense female figure, clad in pure, simple white, a massive sword at her side, her great burning wings folded demurely behind her, the solar gazed on them with eyes full of a warm, complete compassion. She was beautiful, but not in the way mortal creatures are, not for symmetry of feature and grace of line. She was beautiful like lightning across a violet sky, like a storm-lashed sea, like a mountain range at sunrise. She was beautiful in the way of grand and mighty things, and though Maera opened her mouth, she could find nothing to say. Her mind was so addled with a multitude of questions that none of them could fight their way past her stunned lips. The solar smiled. “You are wondering where you are, and how you came to be here.”

Five heads nodded.

“You have been here before, after a fashion. Though this is more a piece of a place, than a place in its entirety.”

The words nagged at Maera until they finally pushed their way through her confusion. “This is Hell, isn’t it?”

“It is a portion of your father’s realm in the Hells, yes.”

“So are we dead again?” Imoen asked.

The solar smiled again. “No, little one. You inhabit your physical bodies still.” She turned her fiery eyes back to Maera. “When you were last here, godchild, your presence touched it, and you carried a part of it back with you into life. Now, it has opened to you, and to those you deem essential to your journey. You may now enter and exit it at will, though you will find it will take where you need to be, not necessarily where you want.”

The implications of the solar’s words struck like the proverbial ton of masonry. Maera stared. “I _made_ this place?” She looked around helplessly. The gloom of the cavernous room made it gave it a claustrophobic feel. She knew there was a ceiling up there, but she couldn’t see it. “ _How_?”

“Not by conscious thought,” said the solar. “Nor even by desire. As the saying goes, you were in the right place, at the right time. The plane responded to the divinity in your soul, and when you regained it, this place came into being. I understand this knowledge is somewhat overwhelming, godchild, but there will be many such truths revealed to you in the coming days. You have only begun, and that is why I am here. It is my task to aid you, to help you grow in knowledge and power so that you will be ready when your time comes.”

 _What will you do when the time comes_? Maera swallowed. “I don’t understand.”

“Do not be afraid. You will. All things will be revealed in their proper time, and you will know their truth.” The solar reached down and touched Maera’s cheek. “I will leave you now, but we will speak again soon. For now, there is one here who wishes to speak with you. Farewell.”

With that, she was gone, and Maera was left to look about the darkened room in confusion. “Someone where?”

“I told you we were not finished, sister.”

The voice echoed as though coming from a great distance away, but the filmy shape that formed in the air in front of her was less than a foot away. Maera swore and stepped back swiftly, eyes wide. It spoke again, exasperated. “No need to recoil – I can do you no harm in this place. And certainly not in this form.” The shape gained greater definition, and there was no denying who it was. Sarevok’s face was set in concentration as he shot Maera a calculating look. “I am disappointed. One would think you would know better how to conceal your shock.”

Minsc peered at the specter. “Didn’t we kill him? I am fairly sure Boo made a snack of his eyeballs.”

“That he did, Minsc,” Maera said, grateful the ranger’s interjection had given her time to recover her composure.

Sarevok, on the other hand, looked irritated at the interruption. He pointedly ignored Minsc as he continued. “When last we met, I noticed the energies of our father’s realm gathering around you. I determined my best course of action would be to…stow away, as it were.”

Her jaw tightened. “As what were?”

“It would be pointless to attempt to explain the metaphysics to one who has so deliberately ignored those aspects of herself, but suffice it to say that I saw my chance to depart and I took it.”

“And now you’ve traded one piece of hell for another. Well done.”

A ghostly eyebrow lifted, unamused. “I had missed your sarcasm.”

“I’m sure you’ve missed it as much I’ve missed you.” She crossed her arms. “What’s your game, Sarevok?”

“I seek something. Something it is within your power to grant.”

“Considering I wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire, you _may_ have gone to all this trouble for nothing.”

“Why sister, what of your vaunted lack of hate? I thought you had outgrown me. Am I not beneath you now?”

She narrowed her eyes. Gods, he was maddening. “Fine. What are you after?”

“Life, dear sister,” he said, his hollow voice unctuous in the extreme. “With a little, a very little, aid from you, I can be returned to it.”

Maera stared at him, mouth gaped. A shocked, half-choked laugh shook her shoulders, and the empty cavern suddenly rang with her laughter. “You… You honestly think that… Oh my gods, you’re serious, aren’t you?” She covered her mouth, trying to regain her composure. Saverok’s hazy features twisted with anger. “I always knew you were at least a little crazy, but now you’ve proved it. No, I think you did quite enough damage the last time you were alive. I am perfectly comfortable with you staying this way. So, sorry, Sarevok, but I think we’re just going to be on our way.”

His look of fury shifted into cunning. “Do you even know how?” he asked, dry amusement rippling in his tone. “I suspect you do not. But _I_ do. I have watched this place as it formed. Observation of that process has taught me much.”

“Why should we listen to anything you have to say?” Jaheira groused.

Maera extended a deferential hand towards the druid. “An excellent question, Jaheira. Why _should_ we, Sarevok? Your track record doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence."

He snorted, a feat for one with no obvious need to breathe. “Fine then. Wander about like lost sheep. When you tire of it, I will still be here.”

“What is with everyone comparing us to farm animals today?” Imoen demanded of no one in particular.

“Alright, Sarevok,” Maera sighed, rubbing her forehead, “you’re obviously dying to share your wisdom, so I’ll listen. And no, I’m not apologizing for that remark being a terrible pun, because I don’t care.”

“Then we have a deal? My help for yours?”

“Excuse me?”

“Return me to life, and I will tell you everything you need to know.”

Kelsey could not watch the back and forth in silence any longer. “What kind of a trade is that?”

Sarevok flicked him a look of dry contempt. “I don’t believe I was speaking to you.”

"Talk, Sarevok," Maera snapped, her temper rising. "I'll decide if you have anything to say that I find interesting."

"As I said," he replied smoothly. "With your aid, I may live again."

“How is that supposed to work? Last time I checked, I’m no priest.”

“But you are a Child of Bhaal. I don’t believe I have to tell you that your soul has certain…unique properties.”

“Oh, no. The last time someone played with my soul, very bad things happened. You think I’m going to let you it voluntarily?”

“Suit yourself,” he said with a spectral shrug. “You know where to find me.”

She looked about the darkness emptiness of the strange cocoon plane. There were no obvious exits. To all appearances, it was nothing more than a huge, empty room. As if the idea of a semi-metaphysical place being attached to her like some sort of lamprey wasn’t bad enough, the thought that that place was a hell made her skin crawl. It was far less visibly horrific that Bhaal’s hell had been, though, even if it was not exactly welcoming. But if she had changed it unconsciously, how much had it changed her? She glanced back at Sarevok, and the question was asking itself before she had time to stop it. “What would this entail?”

A small riot broke out behind her, as four voices, in various tones and accents, questioned her sanity. Even Minsc, and he knew from crazy. Sarevok, unnervingly, smiled. “Like rekindling a fire, sister, I only require a spark.”

Her head was beginning to hurt. "Oghma's books," she sighed. "I cannot be rid of you, can I? Even dead, you still manage to butt your way into my life. As if I don't have enough to worry about right now!" She paced angrily in front of him, stopping to shoot at him, "And what would you do? If I agreed to this, what would you do with yourself?”

He looked askance, and moved his translucent shoulders vaguely. “I wish to live again. Beyond that… I do not know.”

She was unimpressed. “Don’t lie to me, Sarevok,” she said. “You’re a planner. You don’t do anything without your end game in mind. So tell me. What do you want?”

“I have already told you. Doubt me if you will, but in that, at least, you do it unnecessarily.”

“I'll stick with doubting you, thanks. That feels more natural."

Sarevok glowered. "Very well then. How may I ease your mind?"

"Explain to me how returning Sarevok Anchev to the world of the living is, in any way, a good idea. Help me understand how doing that is anything other buying myself a temporary convenience in return for bringing back someone who got what was coming to him. Please, Sarevok, help me out here."

The ghost took a step towards her. “If you wish to assure I will not act against your wishes, I could swear an oath to you that I would not. In this place, it would bind like a geas.”

The word rang through Maera’s mind with the off-key clang of a fire bell, and suddenly all she could see were Yoshimo’s weary, wounded eyes. “I don’t do geases,” she said shortly.

"Then I will be in your debt," he growled, his frustration growing.

"You think I want you indebted to me?"

The dead man compressed his lips. “Then what more can I say? You have made your stance abundantly clear; now let me make mine. I have no desire to raise my hand against you again. That is past. But if I have means within my grasp to be returned to life, then I will take it! You are trapped in this place now, just as I am, and neither of us can escape without the other! You know what I wish, and all I have to offer is my word and my knowledge. Take the one and you will have the other.”

Maera met his eyes again. This had been so much easier when she could just kill him. It had all been so clear before - he was the enemy, and all she needed of him was his death. It was clean, and it was simple. But everything had been simpler then. “All right,” she said softly. "Fine. If this is what it takes to get you to leave me and mine the hell alone, fine. If this is what I have to do to _finally_ get you out of my life, then take as much soul as you damn well need." She lifted her chin, glaring up at him belligerently. She had forgotten how godsblighted tall he was. "But I swear – cross me, piss me off, look at me funny on the wrong day, and you will be the first person I've ever killed twice."

"Having died on your sword once before, sister," Sarevok said calmly, "I am in no hurry to repeat the experience." He stepped close to her and pressed his hands against the sides of her head, sinking them _into_ her. Her eyes rolled back in her head as his insubstantial body began to gain color and substance, like glass being painted.

She staggered back as he pulled away his hands, and Kelsey stepped behind her, letting her stumble against him. His hands rested on her hips as she leaned on him, breathing heavily. He looked over her shoulder to the now entirely solid form of her old enemy. Sarevok was clad in very plain plate, a simple, unadorned sword belted at his hip. The phrase “a big man” did not begin to do him justice – he was taller even than Minsc, and his shoulders could probably blot out the sun. Kelsey suddenly felt very short and reedy by comparison.

So this was Sarevok, who’d killed Maera’s beloved foster father and haunted her steps halfway across the Sword Coast. The presumptive ruler and would-be scourge of Baldur’s Gate. Sarevok, whom she had killed in turn. Remembering that made Kelsey slightly more comfortable with the man’s size. “It worked,” Sarevok murmured with satisfaction.

“You went tinkering around with my soul and you weren’t sure it would work?” Maera’s voice was harsh with incredulity.

“Success is never an absolute, sister.” The oozing familiarity of Sarevok’s tone made Kelsey’s hands tingle with unspent fire.

“I'll make sure they carve that on your next headstone,” she shot back, patting Kelsey’s hand as she straightened and stepped away from him. “Well. Here you are.”

“Yes,” he breathed, flexing his fingers, “here I am indeed.” He watched his hand, seemingly entranced by the motion of bone and muscle under the skin, then brought his head up with a jerk. “And now, payment is in order, I believe.” He gestured about them. “This place knows you better than you know yourself, sister, but let us be frank, that isn’t difficult. Sometimes I think you are willfully obtuse.” Her eyes narrowed.

"Getting off to a rousing start, Sarevok," she growled warningly.

He continued, but not before his lips moved in an expression that was almost, but not quite, a smirk. “The solar was correct; this…pocket plane of yours may be used to travel from one point to another in the Prime Material, but you set your destination only in the broadest sense. It knows where you truly need to be in order to travel your path. So I propose an exercise." She raised her eyebrows. "Empty your mind. I will ask you a question, and when I do, do not give me an answer colored by your personal desires or your precious morality. Give me the truth.” She rolled her eyes, humoring him, then closed them. “Where do you need to go?”

“We have to go to Saradush.”

“Why?”

“Because… it’s the center of this whole thing, and I have to know what’s happening. I have to be there.”

She heard her party gasp, almost as one, and opened her eyes. Between the two columns nearest her, she saw a swirling vortex of golden light, a mandala of heatless fire. She stared at the whirlpool of light. It hummed faintly. “Will that take us to Saradush?”

“There is only one way to find out.”

She circled the portal, eyeing it suspiciously. She glanced over at Jaheira, who shrugged, her face reflecting her own confusion. A small, high-pitched voice issued from the darkness to her left, and the sound of it left her scrambling for Daystar’s hilt. “Big ghostie?”

A look of intense, pained consternation crossed Sarevok’s face. “Oh gods, the imp.”

With a rustle of leathery wings, a small imp fluttered into view. “Ooooo, ghostie, you lookin’ awful solid. “ Catching sight of Maera, it put a tiny hand to its thin chest. “Great one! You is finally showed up! It’s been just Cespenar and the ghostie for so longs now!”

Having had little experience with hellish entities, Maera was at something of a loss. “Um…and you are?”

“The less heed you pay that pest, the better,” Sarevok opined.

“Don’t pays no attention to him,” the imp chirped in his sing-song voice, his ugly little face pulled into an expression no doubt meant to be suave. “Ghostie’s a big grump. Cespenar serveds the great lord Bhaal, but I guesses I is serving you now.” He seemed to notice the portal for the first time, and his body language morphed into that of a debilitating depression. “Awww, you is leaving already? But you just gots here!” Good cheer returned like a lit candle, as with a strong wing flap, he looped about in the air. “I knows! What you want done with the place while’s you is gone? More skulls? Some spikes? Is not very spiky.” He held up his hands as though framing a picture. “I is thinking…big fountain of blood, right there in the middle.”

Maera looked at the imp, and the reality of the day began to sink in. She was standing in the middle of what was, she had been told, a sliver of a hell dimension that had apparently followed her home like some lovelorn puppy. She had just given up a portion of her soul to return _Sarevok Anchev_ , of all people, to like. And now she was talking to an imp that seemed to have decided she was its new boss. All right then. She carefully peeled off her sanity and set it aside, the better to wade into the waters of absurdity unencumbered. “You know what, Cespenar? No. No blood, no spikes, no torture implements. Some comfy furniture, I think. Lots of padding, nice upholstery, anything but black. Maybe some potted plants. And some torchieres. The nice big ones that hold a couple dozen candles. We need more light.”

The imp flapped calculatingly. “Unusual.”

“I’m a rebel.”

“I sees that.”

“Think you can do it?”

He crossed his heart solemnly. “Cespenar does his best!”

“I have the utmost faith in you.” Maera could feel the disbelieving stares of her party in the back of her neck. She glanced quickly over her shoulder and shrugged, mouthing " _what?"_.

“Shall we be off, then?” Sarevok asked, all smoothness and urbanity.

“There is no 'we', because I don’t recall inviting you, Sarevok. Don’t get me wrong; you’re going through that portal with us, but only because if this place is mine, I don’t want you junking it up. What happens to you on the other side is officially not my problem. You’re alive again. Try not screw it up. Because you know what will happen if you do.” She glanced at Imoen and Jaheira, Kelsey and Minsc. “Let’s go.”

She extended her hand, and as her fingers brushed the light patterns of the portal, she saw a cobbled courtyard, the stones scarred and broken. There were men in chain mail, and a woman with long red hair, gesturing at them vehemently. As she pushed her hand forward, there was sound, words to match the movement of the woman’s mouth.

“ – will solve nothing! Just let me TALK to Gromnir!”

The eyes of the armed men on the steps before them widened at their sudden appearance, and the one obviously in charge leveled his sword at them with a cry. _Here we go again_ , Maera thought.

 


	25. The Siege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Welcome to Saradush."_

The fight was over before it had begun. Ten or so indifferently trained and equipped men-at-arms against five experienced and edgy adventurers and one recently resurrected murderer was really no contest at all. There wasn’t even any time for the woman on the steps to object, and when it was all over, she stared mutely at them, eyes wide.

Now that they were arrived, there was sound and smell to accompany the sights, and Maera wasn’t sure she was particularly glad of that. Saradush stank of sweat, sewage, and blood, and the normal bustle of a city center was absent, replaced with the shouts of soldiers and a steady wooden creak and thud, like the drawing and release of a monstrous bow. Maera swallowed hard. It was a sound she had never heard in person, but she knew it all the same. Siege engines - ballistae, mangonels, and gods knew what else. As if to confirm the sinking realization, a chunk of irregularly shaped rock sailed over their heads and smashed into a disused fountain on the far side of the plaza. Stagnant water pooled outward from the broken base. The few citizens in the plaza square scurried past, wary, but not shocked. Apparently such scenes had become commonplace.

The woman had not moved. “Tall, blonde hair, sword with a golden hilt… My gods. If _you’re_ here, then…” She blinked, and then rushed down the steps towards them. “You’re Maera of Candlekeep, aren’t you? How did you get here?”

“I doubt you'd believe me,” Maera said.

"You would be surprised what I am willing to believe, these days."

“Who are you? And how do you know my name?”

“My name is Melissan. And I think you’ll find there’s not a person in this city who does not know who you are.” Another boulder screamed overhead, crashing into the paving stones and sending shards of stone sharp as knives flying in all directions. “It’s not safe here in the open. We should get under cover.” She shot Maera an ironic little half-smile. “Welcome to Saradush.”

* * *

 

They wound their way through the rubble-choked streets, and it seemed their guide was fairly well known. People ducked their heads and smiled with a sort of cautious, hopeful respect, before turning wary gazes to Maera and her companions. Sarevok was tagging along, quite uninvited, but Maera was too rattled to tell him off. More than once, a sibilant whisper of “Bhaalspawn” hissed as they passed, and Imoen found as she pressed close to Maera’s side that she was clutching her sister’s belt, something she had not done since they were children.

“Who is besieging the city?” Jaheira asked, using her staff to lever a pile of twisted lumber, the remains of a street kiosk, out of her way.

“The leader of the army is named Yaga-Shura," Melissan said, nodding to a pair of men who were attempting to shore up a damaged wall. "He is a fire giant…and he is also a Child of Bhaal, like yourself, Maera.” Maera opened her mouth, but Melissan raised a hand. “The situation is more complicated than even that, though. We need a place to sit and talk. There is much you need to be made aware of. Follow me.” They trailed behind her in confused silence as she led them to a sprawling old inn located on the back street that had probably been a fairly smart area of town. “The Tankard Tree,” Melissan announced. “There are no rooms left in the city, but the proprietor turns no one away. It’s been something of a base of operations for us lately.”

“Us?” Maera shrank slightly from the hard gaze of the handful of people loitering defiantly on the inn porch.

“Yes. Come.” Melissan gestured towards the door and smiled her odd little smile again. “The other benefit of the Tree is its extensive cellar. They’re in no danger of running out of ale anytime soon.”

They were seated at a dark corner table, as far from the watchful eyes of the rest of the common room as they could get. Melissan tapped the table restlessly as she began to speak. “Where to begin?” she asked herself softly.

“Bhaalspawn with armies is a good place,” Maera said. The floor shook slightly as another missile impacted somewhere in the distance, as if to emphasize the point.

“Fair enough,” Melissan replied. “As I said, the city is besieged by a Bhaalspawn named Yaga-Shura. He is allied with other of his…your kind. They have all raised forces under their own banners, but there is an obvious element of cooperation between them. They call themselves the Five.

“At first, many dismissed the reports of them as rumor. Times past in Tethyr, armies marched for the most spurious of reasons, and no one wanted to believe that such things could happen again." Maera glanced at Jaheira; the druid's lips were compressed. Melissan continued. "But it was not long before every town and village in their path was put to the torch and sword, and the old symbols of Bhaal emblazoned for all to see. Those who could flee the onslaught did, and came here. Saradush is filled to its walls with refugees, who came here for the protection offered by a fortified city, only to find themselves trapped when Yaga-Shura marched on the city." Melissan took a deep breath. “Which leads us to our current, precarious situation. And my folly.” Questioning looks all around urged her to continue. “I have…taken an interest in the Bhaalspawn for some years now. I have met many in my travels, and before events pushed us to this present, bloody state of affairs, I had brought them together for mutual protection and benefit. There are, at present, approximately fifty Bhaalspawn, other than yourselves, here in Saradush. And to the best of my knowledge, with the exception of the five beyond these walls, there are no more.”

Maera rocked slightly in her seat, and she and Imoen exchanged a disbelieving look. Kelsey gently rubbed her upper arm as Melissan’s information sank in. “And just who are you,” Sarevok rumbled softly from deep in the shadows, “to take such an interest in the affairs of the children of a dead god?”

“I know you, Sarevok Anchev,” Melissan returned calmly, “and I’ll admit I was quite surprised to see you at all, much less in your current company.”

“He is not with us,” Maera said firmly. “He may have gotten here the same way we did, but that's as far as it goes. And it would be a good idea for him to remember that." Her eyes met his, and he was the first to look away. "However – and I can’t believe I’m saying this – he does have a valid question.”

“He does,” Melissan conceded, dropping her eyes. “In my youth, I was a Bhaalite.” She paused for the wave of reaction to circle the table. “But then the Time of Troubles came, and Bhaal was killed, and the faithful were told not to lose hope, because he had foreseen his death and taken steps to ensure his rebirth.” She sniffed bitterly, her tone grown mocking. “Yes, a crowd of children would be his salvation. It was a foolish plan, and my heart broke from the Lord of Murder that day. I have no desire to see him returned, and I will do all in my power to prevent it.”

“So you’re doing this to spite him?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“There is another issue not yet addressed,” Jaheira said. “When we arrived, you were arguing with those soldiers. You wanted to see someone called Gromnir. Who is that?”

Melissan folded her hands. “He is the current, de facto, leader of the city. He was the head of the city militia, but when the rumors about the armies of the Five began to circulate, the townspeople felt their Lords weren’t doing enough to protect them. They demanded Gromnir be given control of the city, and he was. But they have come to regret that decision. He has done nothing in the defense of the city, and it is obvious he has no intention to. Those few souls manning the walls, attempting some token defense, do so only in the absence of direct orders not to."

"So there's an army out there, laying siege, and the only things standing between them and every person in this city are the walls themselves?" Maera demanded.

"Well put," Melissan said. There was another rumble, closer this time. "You see now why I wished to speak with him. I have tried very hard to do what I can here, to help as many as possible, to shoulder my share of the responsibility. After all," her voice dropped, "Yaga-Shura may not have come here, had I not chosen this city as a shelter for the Bhaalspawn that I...have charge of. Gromnir is also a Bhaalspawn, and I was hoping I could appeal to him on that basis. But he sees no one. He remains locked in the city Keep, doing nothing.” She glanced at the window, noting the barmaid hanging a heavy black drape over it. “The curtains are going up; it must be near sunset.” She stood. “I must go. I am expected elsewhere. We should speak again, in the morning. Maera, your appearance has given me some hope that we may be able to resolve this situation. Saradush may not be beyond help after all. For now, I would advise that you remain here. It’s apparent you can handle yourselves, but it would be wise to avoid confrontations, I think.” She inclined her head, and with that, departed.

Maera rested her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands. “Oh gods,” she moaned, voice muffled. She exhaled heavily and removed her hands, straightening in her seat. “Alright. She said there aren't any rooms; let's see what kind of arrangements can be made. And do our best to be inconspicuous tonight.”

* * *

 

“Inconspicuous does not mean breaking a man’s jaw, Maera!”

Jaheira glowered at the younger woman, who sucked air between her teeth as Kelsey daubed her knuckles with witch hazel. The buzz of conversation was returning to the common room as the militia guard she had put through a table was helped out of the inn by his slightly less battered comrade. The freckled young barmaid who had been the object of his unwanted attentions was fluttering about them, offering free drinks. Imoen gregariously accepted on their behalf, and Minsc walked her back to the bar in gentlemanly fashion, having apparently appointed himself her champion for the rest of the evening. Sarevok was nowhere to be seen, and that was the only thing that had happened that evening that gave Maera any real pleasure.

“He wouldn’t take no for an answer, and that girl’s skinnier than Imoen!” She winced as Kelsey began to wrap her hand.

“Minsc had the matter entirely in hand. You lost your temper!”

Maera raised her wounded hand in surrender, the bandage serving as her white flag. “Alright, fair cop. I did. I’m sorry.” She sighed. “It’s been a hell of a day, Jaheira.”

Jaheira’s face softened. “It has. I am going to see about finding a place where I might have some solitude; I heard earlier that the roof is still clear. I shall see you in the morning.”

Minsc and his new friend returned to the table with three tankards of ale and a steaming mug that he set down in front of Maera. She raised a questioning eyebrow and took a sniff. “Herb tea,” he informed her. “Boo thinks you have had enough ale tonight.” The hamster perched on his shoulder squeaked the affirmative, and the barmaid giggled as she collected their empties.

“Thanks, Boo,” Maera grumbled darkly, taking a drink. It was actually fairly good.

They drank in relative silence for a while, until Imoen grinned and elbowed Kelsey in the ribs. “Hey, Red, that girl at the bar’s checking you out.”

He shot her a skeptical look. “What?”

“Seriously! Dark-haired girl near the end, blue dress. She keeps looking at you. You might wanna mark your territory, Mae.”

Maera, sunk low in her chair, cheek resting resignedly on her fist, made a dismissive gesture with her injured hand. “I’ve already gotten in trouble once tonight for defending people. He’s on his own.”

Kelsey stuck his tongue out at her. “I love you too.”

Imoen giggled suddenly into her drink. “She’s coming over here!”

The girl approached tentatively, chewing furiously on her lip. She was young, twenty at the oldest, and softly pretty, with a cloud of black curls flowing about her face. “Um…excuse me. Are you…are you Kelsey Coltrane?”

His eyebrows shot up. “I am, actually. Can I help you?”

Relieved, she put a hand over her heart and smiled. “Oh, thank the gods. I was afraid you weren’t, and I’d made a fool of myself. You just look so much like him. Or, I guess, he looks like you.” Noting his blank expression, she tilted her head. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” He shook his head mutely, and she held out her hand. “I’m Mirena. Mirena Renoe.”

He was too stunned to take it. “Oh my gods. Mirena? What are you doing here?” Maera, Imoen, and Minsc exchanged confused looks, and Boo ran down Minsc’s arm onto the table, as if to get a better view.

“Well, Kelvim and I were actually supposed to leave last week, but…well, nobody’s getting out of the city right now,” she said ruefully.

Kelsey paled. “Kelvim’s here?” he whispered.

“He’s upstairs,” Mirena said, then laughed faintly. “We actually have a room, so we're doing better than a lot of people right now, but...he got hurt a couple of days ago… got too close to a wall that had been weakened by the bombardment. A beam fell across his chest. I think some ribs are broken, but I can't tell.” Worry crept into her voice. “He's started coughing, and there aren’t enough healers in town right now. I don’t know what else to do for him.”

Kelsey stood suddenly, pushing his chair back with such force it almost tipped. “I have to get Jaheira.”

“Kelsey!” Maera grabbed his arm. “What’s going on?”

“He’s my brother,” he replied shortly, then looked back at Mirena. “Please take me to him.”

She nodded, and headed for the stairs, Kelsey at her heels. Maera blinked, then charged after them. Imoen and Minsc watched them go. “Kel…vim?” Imoen asked. “Their mom must have really liked that prefix.”

Minsc sank his chin into his hand, looking perplexed. “Boo and I are so confused.”

“That makes three of us, big guy.”

* * *

 

Jaheira poked and prodded at the torso of the young man in the bed. “And the cough, is it productive?” she asked clinically.

Mirena had not exaggerated; there was a strong family resemblance. Kelvim was perhaps a little broader of chest and shoulder than his older brother, and his hair would more properly be called auburn than red, but Maera now felt she had a fairly good idea of Kelsey’s appearance at twenty. The patient nodded. “Yeah, sometimes. But mostly it just hurts like hell.”

“One of your broken ribs bruised your lung; it is a wonder it did not puncture it. Given time, the damage could have caused pneumonia.” Mirena gasped. “But it is easily enough dealt with.” The druid closed her eyes and laid her hands on Kelvim’s chest, and they began to glow with the familiar, soothing light of healing. After a moment, she removed them. “Breathe deep.” He complied, and she nodded. “The ribs are still weak, so I would not advise a great deal of activity for the next day or so. But you will recover now.”

“Thank you, Jaheira,” Kelsey said gratefully.

“You are welcome.” She bent her head in acknowledgement. “Good night.”

Kelvim pushed himself up, and Mirena hurried to put some pillows behind him. “Thanks, Ren,” he said softly. He glanced at her, and at Maera, who watched in silence near the door. “May I have a word with my brother, please?”

Maera caught Kelsey’s eye. “I’ll be downstairs.” She and Mirena departed, and the Coltrane brothers looked at each other for a long, painfully silent moment.

“Well,” Kelvim said softly. “Of all the places, and of all the circumstances, to see you again.”

“What are you doing here, Kelvim?” Kelsey asked. “You should be at home.”

His brother barked a humorless laugh. “This from the guy who hasn’t been home in what, six years? No, it may be bad luck that we’re stuck right now, but I _needed_ to be here.” He cast Kelsey a hard look. “Playing adventurer now, huh? Just as well. It's not like you've done anything for the business lately.”

“Birinar wanted me out the way, and he gave me the least consequential assignments he could to make sure of it. You know that.” He knew the justification was weak, but it was the only one he had.

“And you let him! Oh, you let him. It must have been really nice to be able to just walk away. You would think the eldest son and heir might have had just a little bit of sway to keep his own uncle from making a complete hash of everything, but I guess not. You want to know what I’m doing here, big brother? I’ve spent the last year and a half traveling around half of Faerun, putting out Birinar’s fires. I intend to oust him by winter. Assuming I don’t get killed here, of course.”

Kelsey’s eyes widened with newfound respect. “You’re taking over?”

“Someone has to. Do you know even half the shit our dear uncle was involved in? The things he's dragged our family name into? No, you wouldn't. Because you've been off doing your own thing, which must be so nice for you.” Kelvim laughed mirthlessly again. “And to think you were the one who actually _knew_ Father. I was _eight_ when he died, Kelsey! So if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna take a moment to laugh at the irony of the fact that _I’m_ the one who stepped up when responsibility reared its ugly head, instead of running for the hills.” Kelsey stared at the floor, saying nothing, and his brother eyed him hard. “Not going to bother defending yourself?”

“I think you've summed it up pretty well.” Kelsey’s eyes remained fixed on the floor.

“Dammit, I’ve been waiting years for this. The least you can do is argue a little.”

Kelsey shrugged. “You’re right. I did run. I could have come home and called Birinar out for the way he was running things any time. I didn’t. I let him roll me over.”

A long silence, and a shrewd look preceded Kelvim’s words. “So...you're agreeing with me. I'm right and you were wrong?”

“In a nutshell, yeah.”

“Huh.” Kelvim pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know, conversations like this never turn out the way you imagine they will. I had this whole script in my head, and I was going to just _decimate_ you.”

"You were doing a pretty good job of it."

"But then you had to go and agree with me!" Kelvim shook his head. "You're just like Mother, Kelsey. You're too nice."

"You're not the first person to say so. But in this case, it's not niceness, it's honesty." Kelsey sighed, an old shame he had never quite learned to ignore welling up within him. "I let you drift. You and Mother." He straightened his shoulders slightly. "Okay, I actually do have one thing to say in my defense.”

Kelvim, still not sure how to react to the change in tone, gave a small shrug. “Alright.”

“I’m not playing adventurer. I am one. But I’ll admit that’s a somewhat recent development.”

“Well, it's really a pretty short step from caravan jobs to that, right? With the-” he wiggled his fingers - "and all."

“It's called sorcery,” Kelsey chuckled. “We’re not in Amn at the moment, and I’m not afraid of it anymore.” He crossed his arms, watching the ghost of a smile tug at the corners of his brother’s mouth. “Remember when I first started casting? You used to bring me leaves and little pieces of paper to set on fire."

"Until Mother caught me trying to steal letters out of Father's study because I'd run out of ideas for flammable things. I was a weird kid."

"You've turned out okay." Kelsey dropped his head and muttered, "No thanks to me." Kelvim looked down as well, and the silence stretched. “So…you and Mirena, huh? Mother always used to joke about you two being inseparable. I had no idea it'd actually take.”

Kelvim smiled, proud and slightly reticent. “Yes and no. Her parents sent her off to school in Baldur’s Gate, of all places. I didn't see her for four years. But she came back, the summer before last, and…it was like nothing had changed." He cleared his throat. "Well, she had. She'd changed _a lot_. But I’ve been really glad to have her with me on this trip. I don't know what I would have done without her.” He shot his brother a glance, a glint in his eye. “So…you and the blonde, huh?”

Kelsey felt his burning ears betray him. “That obvious?”

“You may as well have it embroidered on your shirt. But I gotta say, man…well done. She’s, um… she's impressive.” The brothers shared a chuckle, then Kelvim looked back down at his lap, the humor fading from his eyes. “Look, Kelsey…we’re not okay. Not yet. There were times when it would have been better if you were dead, rather than have a big brother out there who couldn’t care less about me.”

He could not have more effectively cut out Kelsey’s heart with a scalpel. “Kelvim, I…”

“I know that isn’t true. Logically, I know that. But that’s what it felt like.” His eyes found Kelsey’s again. “It is good to see you again, though.”

* * *

 

It was true that the Tankard Tree had no rooms, but it had plenty of spare corners and floor, and that space too was at a premium. The party had managed to stake out a small rectangle against the stairwell, and Maera sat on the bottom step, waiting as the rest of the room bedded down. She heard soft footsteps descending, and looked over her shoulder at Kelsey, who leaned heavily on the banister. She bit her lip. “How did it go?”

“Other than being rather correctly informed I am a complete failure as a brother and son…not bad.”

She cringed in sympathy. “Ouch.” Standing, she took his hand and led him to the nest of blankets and cloaks she had laid out for them. He sat, tugging at his boots inattentively, and she waited for him to speak.

“I guess it never occurred to me how angry he must have been," he said, his voice low, “and how justified he was in feeling that way." He pulled off his robe, stuffing it behind him almost angrily. "Our mother just…checked out after Father died. He had to go through the roughest years of any kid’s life on his own. I was a complete non-entity. I was so wrapped up in myself I didn’t even think…” He sighed deeply. “He may not hate me, but gods... how can I ever make it up to him?”

"I think he's the only one who can decide that," Maera said softly.

Kelsey nodded, a slight chuckle catching in his throat. “Yeah, you’re right.” He took her right hand in his, running his thumb over the creases in her palm. “I am so ashamed of myself, Maera.”

“Shame serves us best as a door,” she said, and he raised his eyebrows.

“Another proverb?”

Her smile had a sheepish cast. “I’ve had Alaundo on my mind a lot lately.” He nodded, and tugged on her hand gently, pulling her closer. She clasped her arms around him, resting her forehead against his cheek.

“How are you holding up?” he whispered. “Everything that’s happened today…do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know. Taken all together, it’s just so much, so I’m trying to break it down into smaller, more manageable pieces, and it’s still…” She exhaled. “All I can say is the more I see of other Bhaalspawn, the more I realize Im and I are the exceptions that prove the rule. And I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“If it helps,” he offered, “I don’t see a Child of Bhaal when I look at you.”

She tilted her head to kiss his cheek. “You have no idea how much that helps.” He smiled.

“And you know Jaheira and Minsc feel the same way. They love you, too. You and Imoen. They see you for who you really are. And anybody who would run away from either of you after finding out how you happened to come into the world is a narrow-minded coward. Because what you’ve done while you’ve been here is a lot more important.”

Maera tried to swallow past the sudden tightness in her throat. “Thank you.” His arms tightened around her.

“I may have messed up with one family,” he murmured, “but I’m not going to with this one.” He blinked suddenly, and cleared his throat. “Uh, I mean…”

“I know what you mean,” she said, smiling softly.

They sat in silence for a moment. It had been such a long day, and Kelsey felt himself teetering on the edge of an fatigue so profound it felt akin to intoxication. Thinking was so difficult at that stage he spoke without bothering with it. “Maera, there’s something I ought to tell you. I meant to sooner, but then we had to leave Suldanessellar, and everything’s been so hectic, but I have the feeling if I don’t tell you now, I may not get another chance.” Her eyebrows went up, and her brow was furrowed in puzzlement. “Before we left, I contacted an old friend - well, friend of my father’s, anyway - and she told me she was selling a house of hers outside Berdusk. It’s a nice place; I’ve been there before, several times. So, I wrote some letters, made some arrangements, and…” He loosened his arms from around her, dug into a side pocket on his pack, and pulled out a slightly crumpled sheet of folded vellum. “You’re looking at the new owner of a five bedroom villa on fifteen acres three miles from Berdusk.”

She blinked. “You bought a house?” He nodded. “ _Why?_ ”

He worked his mouth for a moment, a hundred different justifications warring for his voice. It was an investment, it could be a base of operations, it could provide a useful space for training. But the truth battled its way through. “It has a library.”

She stared, first at the paper, then at him, her eyes widening. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her so shocked. “You bought it for me?”

“In a manner of speaking…yes.” She continued to stare, unblinking, and his stomach sank. “Okay, I overshot, didn’t I? _Far_ too big a gesture…damn it, I’m sorry, Maera, I shouldn’t have-”

She suddenly shook her head, a giddy, half-hysterical giggle escaping her lips before she hastily covered her mouth. “No, it’s not that! It’s not that at all! It’s just…I’ve never lived in a house before!”

He tilted his head realization dawning. “My gods…you haven’t, have you?” She shook her head again, and he asked, with extreme caution, “Would you want to?”

“I…I’ve never really thought about it, honestly, but then…I never thought I’d have the chance, either.”

“You could,” he said carefully. “If you wanted.”

She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. He really was absolutely astounding sometimes; capable of doing the most extraordinary things for the most mundane reasons, and he didn’t even realize it. The thought of a place where she could _stop_ \- not an inn, not a roadside camp, not the home of another – was both terrifying and exhilarating, and in the midst of so much madness, they were such wonderfully ordinary sensations. She lay back, taking his arm and pulling him along with her. With a little careful maneuvering, they curled up together, his arm draped across her waist. “Tell me about it,” she murmured. “The house. What’s it like?”

“Well…” He gathered his thoughts. “It’s two story, but it has an attic. It’s built out of this beautiful golden-brown stone, and the last time I saw it, it had green shutters.” She wrinkled her nose, and he said, “We can repaint those.” Seeing that the thought appeased her, he smiled and continued. “It sits at the top of a hill, overlooking a little valley, with a stream running through it…”

They lay on the hard floor of an overcrowded inn in a city whose only defense was its ever-weakening walls, but wasn’t it nice, Maera thought as she drifted to sleep, that for a little while, they could imagine themselves somewhere else.

 


	26. One Way Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Melissan lies."_

It wasn’t actually the crash of bombardment that woke Kelsey the next morning, but the reverberation of the floor beneath him. He sat up, trying his best not to disturb Maera, and to his relief, she simply shifted on her side but did not wake. She got so little sleep as it was.

The movement sent a small, folded piece of paper fluttering into his lap. He furrowed his brow and picked it up. He did not remember any paper on his chest the night before. But the note’s contents quickly cleared up the mystery.

_Mae and/or Red –_

_I didn’t have the heart to wake you guys (you were so cute!), so this is to let you know that Minsc and I have gone out to have a look around. Jaheira’s around. Don’t worry – we’ll be careful._

_Im_

Under her name, she’d inscribed a pattern of lines that looked almost, but not quite, like letters. Warding runes, designed to give anyone who had not been authorized to handle the note a nasty shock. Kelsey smiled to himself as he tucked the paper halfway into one of the outer pockets on Maera’s pack. The message itself was secondary to the protection she had left for them. Knowing her, however, he was probably lucky she’d included him in the list.

He stood, shoulders aching. Sleeping fully clothed on a wooden floor wasn’t exactly conducive to comfort in the morning. Yawning, he stretched his arms over his head as he rounded the corner out of their stairway alcove, and nearly collided with a dark haired young woman carrying a tray.

“Mirena! I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay,” she said, smiling up at him. She gave the tray a small heft. “See? Didn’t even splash the tea. Much.” Her smile softened. “By the way…I’m really glad you and Kelvim had a good talk last night.”

“Well,” he chuckled uneasily, “for various quantities of ‘good’. It was mostly awkward, and…humbling.” He shrugged slightly. “I don’t know, Mirena. I don’t know what kind of relationship we can really have at this point. There’s a lot of lost time.”

“True. But you’re both adults now. Maybe you should just try being friends.” There was understanding in her brown eyes, and a heartening lack of judgment. He could see her again as a child, small and solemn – the neighbor girl from down the road, who spent so much time at the Coltrane home because her own wasn’t anything worth speaking of. She and Kelvim had always been close, and Kelsey wouldn’t have blamed her in the slightest if she had held him responsible for any of the hurt his brother had felt over the years. But then, the girl he remembered had been a perpetual peacemaker, and the harmony of her adopted family had seemed at times to matter more to her than it had to them. Time, it seemed, had not changed that, and he was grateful for it.

Her hands shook slightly, and he realized that her tray must be heavy. “And now I’m keeping you here when you probably really want to put that down.”

“It _is_ kind of heavy, yes,” she said. He carefully took the tray from her hands.

“I can carry it for you, if you don’t mind. Were you going upstairs?” She nodded, and he let her lead the way.

They paused outside the room she shared with Kelvim, and she looked up at him, her hand on the doorknob. “Would you like to join us for breakfast?”

“I…don’t know if I should, Mirena. I don’t want to push my luck after last night…”

“Look at where we are, Kelsey,” she said, her gaze frank. “This isn’t exactly the time or place for waiting games.”

 _Definitely not a kid anymore_ , he thought. He glanced down at the tray. “There enough for three?”

She smiled broadly. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t hog it all.”

* * *

 

Maera lay on the floor for at least ten minutes after waking, trying to create a simile that could best describe how her head felt. It needed to be a good one - something florid and a bit overstated, while still maintaining an essential honesty.

She kept coming back to crap. Sometimes one had to stick with the basics.

She spotted Imoen’s note, and stuck it back into her pack after reading it. A paper ward wasn’t the strongest, but it would keep the majority of curious hands away from their gear. The note didn’t account for Kelsey’s absence, but she was sure he hadn’t gone far.

It was early yet; the curtains were still up, and the light slipping around their edges was pale, but the bombardment, which had tapered off in the night, was picking back up in the distance. It was amazing how quickly one could become accustomed to the sound. She rounded a table, feeling dull and sandy eyed, and was treated to an indignant “Hey!” from the vicinity of her waist. She started to apologize to the halfling (height based mishaps could be so embarrassing) when his face paled and his eyes grew large. He backed away. “I’m not looking for any trouble!”

She spread her hands, grateful for once that Daystar was not on her belt. “Neither am I. Look, I’m unarmed.”

The halfling snorted forcefully. “Not like that matters. I saw what you did to that guard last night.”

Maera sighed. As usual, Jaheira had been right. She always was. “You’re a Bhaalspawn too, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” The halfling’s face was a mask of crafty suspicion. “Though I’d hardly put myself in your league.”

“What’s your name? Where are you from?”

“What do you care?”

“I haven’t had a lot of chances to meet other Bhaalspawn. Well, like this, anyway. Can you blame me for being curious?”

His face said that he could probably blame her for quite a few things, but finally, he answered. “Name’s Len. I grew up in Gullykin.”

“I’ve been there before,” she offered. He shrugged.

“I hated it. Ran off to Beregost first chance I got. There’s where Melissan found me last year.” His eyes darted to a table along the wall – six or seven others, male and female, in a cross-section of the races of the Realms, sat clustered around it, watching Len and Maera uneasily.

“More Bhaalspawn?” she asked, and Len nodded. “Why did she bring you all here?”

“Guess she figured since Gromnir hadn’t joined the Five, he’d help us. He hasn’t hurt us, but he’s about worthless, is what he is.”

“But why bring you all together in the first place?”

“Look,” Len said, “we’re not big fish like you. Seems like our main purpose in this world is to get butchered by you.” She was about to protest, so he rolled his eyes and amended, “The ones like you. The strong ones. As a group, we actually stand a chance of not being completely mown down. And while this has been a real treat, you scare the crap outta me, so I’m gonna go.” He made for his table and his companions. Maera could feel their eyes on her. How was she supposed to feel about them? She claimed Imoen as her sister, and while Sarevok’s constant use of the term in relation to herself had chafed, she hadn’t yet felt it necessary to tell him to stop. But these other Bhaalspawn – Len and his fellows, Illasera, the infamous Five and the yet-unseen Gromnir – who were they to her? Disquieted, she turned, and found herself less than a foot from a broad chest.

“Oghma’s books, Sarevok! What the hell?” she snapped, trying to cover her nerves with ill temper.

He raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea it would be so easy to sneak up on you, sister.”

“I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” she replied, scowling at him. Part of her wondered why she was even bothering to make excuses

“Ah. Over-exerted yourself with the sorcerer, then?”

She shot him an icy glare. “On a list of the top ten things in all the planes that are none of your business, Sarevok, my sex life is near the top. So if you have any further speculation on the subject, do yourself a favor and don’t share it.”

“I simply would not have thought him to be to your taste,” he said, his voice bland.

“Because you know me so well.” She swept past him towards the bar.

“Your favorite color is red,” he announced. “Your favorite flowers are yellow roses, your favorite food is cloudberry tart, and you named your first sword after the heroine of your favorite childhood book, _Kirit of Shadowdale_.”

She stopped, and glanced over her shoulder. “Trivia is not the same as knowledge. Just because you spent three years spying on me before trying to kill me doesn’t mean you know a damn thing about who I am.”

“If you say so.” He followed her to the bar. Breakfast was not to be an awe-inspiring affair – plain cakes and a pitifully small amount of ham. Anxiety twisted in Maera’s gut, for if a well-stocked inn was already feeling the pinch of shortened supplies, the private citizenry was likely worse off. No wonder the mood in the streets was so black.

“I don’t recall asking you to eat with me, Sarevok.”

He shrugged, his face carefully composed. “Very well. I can go, and leave you to your thoughts. Unless you care to share them. With someone well placed to understand.”

She leaned back from her food, crossing her arms contemptuously. “And why would you want to be my listening ear? The last time we were in this kind of physical proximity, we were trying to kill each other.”

Her statement garnered another lifted eyebrow. “But as you have pointed out, things have changed since then. We have...moved on, as they say.”

 _Good gods_. “I may not hate you like I did, but that doesn’t mean I like you, Sarevok. So please don’t make the mistake of thinking we’re going to be best friends now that you’ve borrowed a cup of soul.”

“You shouldn’t presume that you know what I want.”

“I thought you didn’t know.”

“I thought you didn’t care.”

“Why didn’t we ever take the time to have these charming heart-to-hearts when you were alive the first time?”

“When I said I’d missed your sarcasm, I was lying.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re edging me back into hate territory.”

“I have to wonder why you bothered to leave it.”

“It wasn’t a conscious choice,” she said, her eyes returning to her breakfast. “You were dead. There wasn’t any point anymore.”

“Oh?” He was almost as good as Jaheira at packing a mountain of meaning into a single syllable.

She looked at him again, her gaze sharp. “I hated you for what you did to Gorion, and for what you put me through. I hated you for what you did to all those innocent people, just to further your ambitions. You made me so angry I wanted to punch through your armor and rip out your heart. I settled for the sword because it was cleaner.”

He smiled slowly. “I always knew you were our father’s daughter.”

“Gods, do you have any idea what you sound like, being happy that someone could hate you that much? No wonder you thought starting a war was a perfectly acceptable way to get what you wanted.” He snorted, and she fixed him with a cold glare. “But here’s the difference between us: When I killed you, it was over. It had to be. Because that was the only way to stop you, and it was what you deserved. And when people pay for what they’ve done, you can’t keep punishing them.”

She expected anger, or at least a retort in the previous vein of the conversation, but he simply looked at her, calculation in his golden eyes. “An interesting perspective.”

“One you don’t agree with, of course.”

“I feel it…unwise. After all, what is to stop me from putting a knife between your ribs even as we sit?”

She looked him in the eye, arching one pale eyebrow. “I don’t know. What _is_ stopping you?”

Their gaze locked, and she felt a tiny thrill of triumph when he looked away. “And what of those unfortunates?” he asked, indicating Len’s table with a jerk of his head. “Do you think they would subscribe to so enlightened a view?”

“It’s not enlightenment; it’s common sense. And whether or not they would agree with me is their own business. They’re people, Sarevok. Just like the rest of us. Yes, even you.” She shook her head, looking away. She didn’t want the others to think she was staring. “Gods, what was Melissan thinking, bringing them here like this? They’re the whole reason that army’s out there now!”

“And yet rather than turn on them, the people of this city look to her just as her flock of Bhaalspawn do.”

“Yeah...they do.”

“One might wonder at her motives in bringing them here. Gathering them together,” Sarevok murmured, his eyes still fixed on the other Bhaalspawn. To a one, they quailed under his scrutiny. “After all, a large, stationary target is always easier to hit than a multitude of small, moving ones. One might almost think it was by design.”

Maera pondered that, examining the words as if through a jeweler’s loupe. If forced at swordpoint to admit one thing about Sarevok Anchev she actually respected, it would have to be his intellect. “You don’t trust her,” she said softly. A slight motion of his head signaled his agreement. “Well, that’s one thing we can agree on, then.”

“Perhaps some pointed questions will be necessary when we speak with her again.”

Movement in the corner of her eye caught Maera’s attention. Kelsey was descending the stairs. She stood, pushing her plate back. “You’re having pronoun trouble again, Sarevok. You might want to look into that.”

She met Kelsey a few steps from the bottom of the stairs, and kissed his cheek. “Hey. Where’d you disappear to?”

Kelsey couldn’t keep himself from glancing over her shoulder, towards her empty place at the bar, and Sarevok. “Uh, I ran into Mirena. Almost literally. I had breakfast with her and Kelvim.”

“That’s good! ...isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was…civil.” He met her eyes, then pointedly looked back towards Sarevok, lowering his voice. “Were you-?”

She sighed. “Please don’t ask. Weirdest quarter hour of my life.” She slipped her hand into his, and squeezed. “Let’s wait for the others outside.”

“It’s not exactly safe out there.”

“Safe’s a pretty relative term right now.”

* * *

 

“This place is screwed, Mae. In a bad way, and in a _very_ unnatural place."

They had claimed a corner of the inn porch, and sat bunched around a table that really wasn’t big enough for five people, particularly when one of those people was Minsc. But there was something comforting about being close to her party. Worse than the constant noise of the siege engines was the feeling of being hemmed in and surrounded, and if Maera was going to be too close to people, it might as well be people she at least liked. She looked at Imoen, who was restlessly flipping a coin over her knuckles.

“That’s very…colorful, Im. Care to elaborate with fewer metaphors?”

Imoen made a small, chuckling snort. "The city's been closed for nearly two weeks, and that Gromnir guy that Melissan was talking about? Hasn't done a thing, just like she said. And now a bunch of the Lords were running things before the siege are yelling 'Told you so' from the nearest unsmashed rooftop, about half the city militia are trying to run some kind of defense in the absence of orders, and most people are trying desperately not to panic." Her voice lowered. "They're not doing so well on that front, either. There's already been one bread riot in the poorer part of town. Everybody I talked to seems to think it's only a matter of time before it happens again, worse and bigger."

Maera heaved a breath, a creeping coldness working its way up her spine. "So either Saradush rips itself apart from the inside, or Yaga-Shura's army does it from without. Wonderful." She glanced around the table at her companions. "Obviously, the siege has to break. What are our options?"

"How long would you like your odds?" Imoen tried to hide her nerves under flippancy, but Maera knew her too well for that.

"Judging from our conversation yesterday evening," Jaheira said, "it would seem Melissan has been put some thought to the subject. Following her lead may be our best option, at present, though I do not feel it wise to put our trust entirely in her hands. Her agenda is mysterious at best." Everyone nodded.

“Boo thinks she is not telling us something,” Minsc stated, and Maera almost managed a chuckle.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, big guy.”

"What do we even know about her?" Kelsey asked. "I asked Kelvim and Mirena about her this morning, and all they could tell me was that the locals seem to trust her almost implicitly. My first thought was magic, but I don't think that's it. I can usually tell when something or someone’s been enchanted, and…I don't feel anything like that."

"Nobody's acting charmed," Imoen said. "And it would take some serious oomph to Charm an entire city."

"The answer may be much simpler than that," Jaheira said thoughtfully. "From what I have heard, she has been everywhere in recent days, it seems; while the city's Lords and the militia do nothing, she has been visible. Even the appearance of action is better than none at all, for people who need hope."

"Willing to trust her in the absence of no one else to trust," Maera murmured. "Even if she is the one who brought the Bhaalspawn here."

The druid tapped the table absently with her fingertips. "That may actually work in her favor."

"People do like it when it looks like someone is taking responsibility," Kelsey agreed.

Maera nodded slowly. "All right. Obviously, we want out of here; we can't _do_ anything stuck in a city under siege. So if Melissan can point us in the right direction to do that, we'll go with her lead. As long as her goals don't conflict with ours, at least." There was a screaming, whistling roar overhead, and a jagged block of stone nearly the size of a horse slammed into the row of houses halfway down the block, splintering the timbered walls, and shattering roof tiles. As she straightened from her instinctive duck, the cold returned to Maera's spine, but this time there was anger in the ice.

It was one thing for Bhaal's children to tear each other apart; most of them seemed to think that was their collective purpose, and that fact forced her own involvement whether she liked it or not. After all, she wasn't about to let any of them think she was easy prey. But running down the innocents who happened to be in the way, just because they could? That wasn't her idea of a fair fight, and unfair fights made her testy.

The cloud of dust was thick enough to cut visibility in the Tankard Tree’s narrow cul-de-sac to almost nothing, and Maera was about to suggest going back inside when a pair of figures emerged from it. Melissan coughed, lowering the cloth she held over her nose and mouth. “There hasn’t been much bombardment in this district,” she said. “This is worrying.” She looked around the table, and then glanced up at the tall, silent presence behind her. “I’m glad to see you all well this morning. Sarevok told me you had remained here.”

“Did he?” Maera eyed Sarevok suspiciously. Having to section off a portion of her mental energy to worry over his motives was something she had hoped to avoid.

“Yes.” Melissan tucked the cloth into a pocket. “This is likely to be an unwelcome proposal, but I had hoped he could join us in the formation of any plan of action.”

“You’re right,” Maera said, her face impassive, “it is unwelcome.”

Sarevok’s eyes rolled, and Melissan subjected her lip to a brief gnawing before saying, “I understand that you have very valid reasons not to trust him, Maera. Truly, I do. But do you think it wise to leave a warrior of his abilities on the shelf when we every one need all the help we can currently get?”

“Wouldn’t you rather have me where you can keep an eye on me, sister?” Sarevok’s voice was almost offensively unctuous.

“I think we would all prefer not to waste our vision on you at all,” Jaheira snorted. Maera nodded, scowling. He was maneuvering her, gods damn him. She sucked in an aggravated breath.

“We will discuss this later, Sarevok.” She looked at Melissan. “You’ve obviously got a plan. And just as obviously, you need our help.” The other woman nodded, and Kelsey stood silently, offering her his seat. He slipped between Maera’s seat and the porch rail, his hand resting on her shoulder. She felt a small shock as he touched her, and she realized it wasn’t static.

"Sorry," he whispered. He was just as edgy as she was, and in a way, that was comforting. She shot him a small smile.

“Im,” she said, glancing at her sister, “would you provide us with a little privacy, please?”

Imoen dug a bit of brightly colored chalk out of her pocket, and sketched a pattern of triangles and crescents on the table's surface that radiated out from a central point, murmuring softly as she drew. She enclosed the whole in a circle drawn with a single movement of the chalk and pressed the palm of her hand to it. An iridescent shimmer filled the air for a split second, and the noise from beyond the porch was suddenly muted, as if it traveled through water instead of air. “Done.”

“All right, Melissan,” Maera said, “what do you want from us?”

“Gromnir,” Melissan replied. “I have to speak with him. If I can convince him to make a stand, Saradush stands a chance. The city is actually quite well defended, and the militia very well armed, but without leadership, their hands are tied.”

“What makes you think you can?”

Under different circumstances, Melissan’s expression might have been a half smile. “Sheer, bloody-minded persistence. I am…not good at leaving things undone. There has been a great deal of talk, and very little action, and if no one else in this foolish city will try to save themselves, then I will make the effort for them. With your help, of course. You have quite a formidable reputation, and I would think that, as a Bhaalspawn yourself, you see your vested interest in this.” She sighed. “And without Gromnir’s cooperation, the only other option I can see to end the siege would be an attempt on Yaga-Shura’s life. Which would not be easily achieved.”

“I guess just knocking on the door won’t get us anywhere?”

“You saw the success of that method when you arrived,” Melissan said dryly.

“Then how do you propose we do this?” Jaheira asked.

“It is my understanding that the lower levels of the city keep can be accessed via the public sewage system. A very kind fellow who worked as an engineer’s assistant during an expansion of the sewers several years ago was good enough to give me a map.” She reached into an interior pocket of her cloak, and spread a sketched map on the tabletop before them. “For a group of your skills, such an infiltration would no great matter.”

For some reason, the flattery wasn't helping. Maera cast a sour gaze around the table, noting the distinct lack of enthusiasm on the faces of her companions. There were no options, no branches to the path. She felt lost, and try as she might, she should not bring herself to place much confidence in the only person who appeared able to guide her. The only way out of Saradush, it seemed, was through Melissan, because she was the sole advocate of real action. _Well, I can respect that at least_ , Maera thought glumly, and sighed. “Alright,” she said aloud, “how soon to do you want to start?”

Melissan glanced over her shoulder, down the street towards the damage wrought by the earlier impact. “Far too much time has already been wasted. The sooner, the better.”

“Anybody got any plans for this afternoon?” Maera asked.

“Well, I _was_ gonna stand in the middle of the street and get rocks dropped on my head,” Imoen said airily, “but I guess I can postpone.”

Maera raised an eyebrow, fighting to keep the inevitable smile off her face. Sometimes she loved that obnoxious little sprite so much it hurt. “Anyone else saved from their own stupidity by this plan?” Jaheira shook her head with exasperated amusement; behind her, Kelsey chuckled and gave her shoulder a surreptitious squeeze. Minsc drew in his broad face in confusion.

“Boo and I were just going to go wherever you were going to go, Maera.”

“As was I,” Sarevok added sedately.

“This is very encouraging,” Melissan said, standing before Maera could snap at Sarevok. “I had felt all my options slip away, but now you’re here. Keep the map. I will return in two hours and we will be underway.” She stepped into the inn, and Maera advanced on Sarevok, her jaw clenched.

“Do not do that again,” she growled.

“Do what?” he asked, with gold-plated innocence.

“Try to handle me. You knew I couldn’t say no in front of Melissan without looking petty.”

He shrugged. “You worry too much about the opinions of others. Even if you don’t trust them, you want them to think well of you.” He gave her a thin smile. “Not all my knowledge of you is trivia, sister.” She inhaled with a hiss, but he continued, “Just as in the pocket plane, we are both trapped here. And as before, I am willing to swallow my pride to aid you. Are you willing to do the same?”

 _Damn. Him._ “I don’t like being painted into corners, Sarevok.”

“Stop handing me brushes, then.”

She grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked, forcing him to eye level with her. “You follow my lead. You do as you’re told. You don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. Understood?”

He didn’t blink. “Perfectly.”

* * *

 

“When people talk about adventuring, they imagine dragons’ caves, and mad wizards’ towers,” Imoen mused, subjecting the muck swirling around her boots to a philosophical gaze. “It’s all gold and jewels and fabulous magic beyond your imagining. No one ever mentions the sewers. And there are so many sewers.”

“That is what makes us heroes,” Minsc replied decisively. “We go where no one else wants to!”

“We go where _we_ don’t want to, Minsc,” Imoen said.

“Do you keep them around for comedy’s sake, sister, or do they actually serve a purpose?” Sarevok muttered derisively.

Maera’s eyes glittered darkly. “The only purpose you need to be worried about is yours, which is to be seen and not heard.”

It was a deep relief when Melissan pointed out a narrow, crumbling brick stairway ahead of them to the left. “There,” she said, consulting the map Jaheira held. “We go up, and we will be in the keep basements.”

The first sub-basement was dank, and smelled only slightly better than the sewer they had just emerged from. The still, cool air was heavy with the scent of mold and damp, and Maera could not imagine that anything being stored down there was possibly still of use. She glanced at Melissan, who walked between her and Jaheira, gamely attempting to keep her soiled skirts from additional fouling. “Do you really think Gromnir can turn this siege around?”

“I have never met him,” Melissan answered, “but I understand he is a ferocious fighter, and quite beloved of his subordinates. With a firm hand at the tiller, I do believe that Saradush can stand a fighting chance. I am not martially inclined, but it’s my understanding the strength of Yaga-Shura’s forces lies more in their ability to intimidate than in their numbers.”

“Intimidation’s all it takes sometimes,” Maera murmured.

Drier and less odoriferous environs awaited in the next level, but as they approached the flight of steps leading to it, they heard voices. Imoen pulled up her hood and stole through the shadows, returning a few moments later with disheartening news.

“At least a dozen,” she reported. “Those stairs lead directly into a barracks. Guess that makes it easier to guard.” Maera swore under her breath, and Sarevok’s eyebrow went up.

“Surely we are a match for a dozen common soldiers,” he said.

“Of course we are, but I don’t want to kill anyone.” The eyebrow gained altitude, and she crossed her arms. “They’re just doing their jobs! We’re here to get Melissan to Gromnir, not add to the widows and orphans of Saradush!” He looked unmoved. “You’re currently breaking rules one and three, and that eyebrow is trying really hard to break rule two, so if you do not want your face put through the nearest wall, you will keep your opinions to yourself. Try keeping a diary. You can title it _Things Maera Does That I Don’t Agree With_.”

Imoen was looking thoughtfully at Kelsey. “Red, this could be a chance to test the sleeping gas.”

He rocked slightly on the balls of his feet, looking unsure. “I don’t know, Imoen…we never really tested it.”

Maera’s eyes shot between the two of them. “Plan on filling me in here?”

“We combine two spells, causing an alchemical reaction,” Imoen answered proudly. “In this case, I cast a choking cloud, and he casts an acid arrow into it. The reaction of the acid and the gas turns it into sleeping gas. It was my idea.”

“It’s just a theory,” Kelsey said nervously. "It could also potentially kill them."

“We tried it in Suldanessellar!”

“In an empty room in the Collegium where no one could get hurt.”

Maera bit her lip. Time was wasting. “Im, how sure are you about this?”

Imoen crossed her arms and gave Kelsey a judgmental look. “As long as he uses a weak enough acid, I’m very sure.”

Maera's eyes moved to Kelsey. "Can you?"

He shifted uncomfortably, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "I... Yeah, I'm pretty sure I can."

"How sure?"

"Almost ninety percent."

She nodded. Even if he didn't always trust his control of his abilities, she did. “Good enough for me. Do it. We need to keep moving.”

Kelsey’s brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded. “You’re the boss.” He followed Imoen up the stairs; a grate at the base of the door would provide their access. Imoen chanted a few soft words to herself, holding her right hand over the grate, and a thick, yellow-green fog billowed into the room beyond. On the other side of the door, there were surprised voices, then the sound of coughing. She nodded to Kelsey, and he closed his eyes in an instant’s concentration. It was almost harder to consciously make it weak than it was to create the arrow in the first place. He brought the fingers of his right hand together, and as they sprang apart, the pale green arrow launched from his palm.

The wisps of gas emanating from the grate turned a grayish hue, and the coughs were joined by the heavy sound of bodies hitting the floor. Maera winced with every thump, hoping desperately she had not made a terrible mistake. Imoen picked the lock, and stood with her hand on the door latch, counting down to the gas’s dissipation. “One,” she said, and opened the door. She knelt beside the nearest guard, putting her fingers to his throat, and looked up with a broad smile. “Still kicking,” she announced happily. “Well, internally, anyway.”

Shaking his head in relieved disbelief, Kelsey said, “I’m man enough to admit when I’m wrong, Imoen.”

She beamed at him. “Good, because that happens a lot around me.”

The Saradush city keep was largely empty – any concentrations of soldiers were more easily avoided, and the few out and about in the corridors were subdued without difficulty. The only civilians to be encountered were a pair of nervous maidservants and a male page of fourteen or so who was trying desperately to appear more grown than he actually was. They seemed to recognize Melissan, at least by reputation, and were more than happy to point her towards the council room where Gromnir spent most of his days. But even as they gratefully affirmed their faith that Melissan could fashion a breakthrough for their beleaguered city, Kelsey could see their eyes sliding uneasily towards Maera. She was acting like she didn’t notice.

The council room that had formerly been the seat of Saradush’s government was unguarded, and Maera decided a grand entrance was in order. She and Minsc yanked open the brassbound double doors, and Melissan, playing along, strode in, the adventurers closing ranks at her back. The twenty or so guards lounging about the room came to their feet, but no weapons were drawn. All eyes rested on the bulky man sitting indolently at the head of the room, his greenish skin and jutting jaw marking orcish antecedents.

“Gromnir,” Melissan said gently, “why have you kept me out? I’m only trying to help.”

He stood, a snorting sort of laugh echoing through the chamber. “Pretty Melissan wants a hand in everything. Can’t stay away. Can’t keep her nose out.”

“The people of this city called on you to protect them when Yaga-Shura approached. He is here, now. Don’t let them down, Gromnir.”

Gromnir laughed again. “Nobody can protect them.” He looked at Maera, his small eyes lit with a manic light. “You are Maera. Gromnir has heard of you. Melissan is trying to kill you too, eh?”

Melissan sputtered, “I am not trying to kill anyone! Gromnir, why do you persist in this mad idea? I’m trying to help the Bhaalspawn! That means you, too!”

He did not acknowledge Melissan’s outburst, his eyes still fixed on Maera. “Can’t believe her. Melissan lies.”

Maera raised an eyebrow. “Does she? What is she lying about, Gromnir?”

Gromnir nodded vehemently as Melissan protested, “This is not productive! Gromnir, please. I am here _with_ Maera. The enemy is out there!” She slowly edged towards him, a hand outstretched. “No one in this room is trying to harm you. We have to focus on Yaga-Shura. If we can organize a strong offensive against his siege camp, we can - ”

“More lies,” Gromnir growled. “Can’t kill Yaga-Shura. Melissan knows that.” He jerked his head towards Maera again. “Didn’t tell you that, did she? Didn’t tell you Yaga-Shura can’t die.”

A chill coursed through Maera’s abdomen. “What do you mean?”

“Magic!” the half-orc crowed, his gaze bright and wild. “Magic that protects his heart. Keeps it safe, far from here. Everyone will die. Except Yaga-Shura.”

Every eye landed on Melissan, whose own eyes were wide as she stammered, “I-I did not know this! Gromnir, is this true?”

Gromnir shook his head, an almost fond expression on his ugly face. “Pretty Melissan still tries to deceive. _Gromnir_ knows the truth.”

“All magic is breakable, Gromnir,” she replied, still inching towards him. “We will find a way to defeat him. You see? Telling us this, you have already helped. Now think of how much more you can do if you arrange a sortie out of the city. Make a show of strength. Show Yaga-Shura we do not fear him, even with his magic.” She was close enough now to touch him, and gently rested her hand on his upper arm, smiling the encouraging smile one gives a wayward child.

He looked down at her hand, then at her face. “Have to kill you first,” he rumbled, then raised his voice, addressing his soldiers. “Kill them all!”

The benefit of experience was that certain action did not even require conscious thought. Daystar was in Maera’s hands, blocking an axe strike, before her mind had engaged. The soldier had not had a good grip, and his weapon slipped from his hands as it met the resistance of the blade. She reversed her grip and smashed the hilt into his face as she whipped around to face Gromnir, but Minsc had crossed the hall in a few distance-eating strides, taking no time for chivalry as he shoved Melissan out of the way. Her eyes huge in her pale face, she scooted out of the way, making herself as small as she could.

Satisfied that Minsc could handle Gromnir, Maera turned again to assess her party’s situation. There was a creaking sound to her left, and a crossbow bolt clattered on the stone floor inches from her. She swore - she didn’t have time for archers. But as she raised Daystar to catch another strike mid-blade, she saw a half dozen sizzling missiles leave Imoen’s hand. Not missing a beat, her sister reached for her shouldered bow, one of Kelsey’s bright red fire arrows streaking a few inches over her head. She would leave it to them to harass the archers; she did her best work at much closer range.

Sarevok was surrounded, but it was clear he did not mind. His roar had a ring of satisfaction to it that both chilled her blood and made it surge in agreement all at once. She knew that feeling, all too well, and hearing it in his voice was discomfiting. Jaheira had fought her way within feet of Minsc and Gromnir, and a well-timed sweep of her staff against the half-orc’s legs caused him to stumble, giving Minsc the opening he needed to run him through.

Silence reigned as Gromnir fell, and the remaining handful of soldiers dropped their weapons and raised their hands in surrender. Sarevok was still holding a man by the throat, and growled in disappointment as Maera shook her head at him. He tossed the guard aside like a doll with a roll of his eyes. The only sound after the swords and axes had clanked on the floor was that of over-exerted heavy breathing, and a steady, soft drip. Bent over in an attempt to catch her breath, Maera looked about for the source of the noise, and noticed blood dripping from the fingertips of Minsc’s left hand. Jaheira saw it at the same time, and they both made a line for the big ranger, Jaheira forcing him to his knees and Maera fumbling with the straps of his armor. A bolt was sunk into his shoulder, having hit in just the spot where the cuirass and shoulderplate separated. The carefully loosened armor pieces were set aside, revealing the shoulder of his padded undershirt, soaked with blood.

“All right, Melissan,” Maera said, holding Minsc’s shoulder as Jaheira pulled the bolt free. “How do you propose we fix _this_?" He swayed, and she braced herself against his weight.

The woman scrubbed at her face with the back of her hand, still ghost pale. “I…did not mean for it to happen like this,” she whispered, staring at Gromnir’s corpse. “We needed him!"

Maera’s jaw twitched, and seeing Jaheira’s glowing hands pressed to Minsc’s wound, she crossed the room and roughly hauled Melissan to her feet. “What kind of asinine plan was this? He was crazy!”

“I’m glad you agree with that, hearing those awful things he said. Me trying to kill him! I had no idea he’d grown so paranoid.” Melissan said, absently rubbing her hands on her skirt.

“So you did know he was mad! And you really thought he was our best option? This city is a tenday from being bombarded into dust, and less than that from tearing itself apart from the inside, and this was your best-case scenario? Gods, I do not know who I’m angrier with – you for cooking up this idiocy, or me for going along with it!” Melissan said nothing, and stared at the floor. “And you kept information from us! Yaga-Shura has some kind of magical anti-death insurance, and you just _happened_ to not know about it?”

“I did not!” Melissan retorted, bracing herself against an overturned chair, knuckles white. “For one, we cannot even be sure that statement was anything more than Gromnir's madness speaking, and if it is, he had far greater intelligence on the matter than I, and little wonder. I am not highly placed in the city’s circles, you know.”

“Could've fooled me,” Maera grumbled. “Oh gods.” She buried her face in her hands, lips curling from the scent of blood on her gauntlets. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, and let the wheels turn. How could she have been such a fool? How could she have let this spin so far out of control so fast?

“And now,” Melissan said slowly, “you are the only one who can defeat Yaga-Shura.”

Maera lowered her hands, tilting her head. “Am I now? Last time I checked, being Bhaalspawn doesn’t make us immune to being killed by other mortals. Just ask Gromnir there. Anyway, I don’t recall volunteering to take care of your fire giant problem.”

Melissan blinked in confusion. “Isn’t it what you want, though?”

“What I want?” Maera laughed humorlessly. “What I want and what I actually get are so far removed from each other they’re not even on the same plane." She sighed. The world was an ocean of choices, and she had been run aground. “Somebody has to catch the rats and clean the middens, and somebody has to keep my so-called 'siblings' from burning the world down. I guess this is just my job.”

“So…you’ll make the attempt, then?”

The adrenaline of battle and anger had worn off, and she suddenly ached all over. Maera glanced around the room, at the silent faces of her party, and a wave of guilt at getting them yet again embroiled in Bhaal’s mess washed over her. She wanted to sink into the floor. “If I don’t, who will? Is that what you're saying?”

Melissan stiffened slightly, looking hurt. "I'm not trying to manipulate you into anything, if that's what you're insinuating."

"I never said you were. But everyone has an agenda, Melissan. I've lived long enough to know that." She stripped off her gauntlets and rubbed her arms, adding quietly, "Wish I knew what mine was, though."


	27. Those You've Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She’d wanted it to be him._

They would have to do this quietly. That was the first thing they had all agreed upon. They had waited until dusk, and returned to the Tankard Tree with as little fanfare as possible to clean up and gather what few supplies they could. And then, Maera would get to try her hand at voluntary interplanar travel.

It hadn't been her idea. While still standing in the battle-wrecked council room, she had said, "This whole idea - us going after Yaga-Shura and all - we kind of have to be able to get out of the damn city to do it, you know."

Melissan had shrugged. “How did you get here in the first place?”

It was not a plan that inspired much enthusiasm. Sarevok had reassured her (in his own richly condescending fashion) that _of course_ she would be able to draw them back into the pocket plane. She had made it; all she had to do was ask it, and it would respond. But she had never made a practice of asking miniature planes of existence for anything, so the idea remained stubbornly foreign.

And Melissan was being so helpful she could scream. Several large and highly detailed maps of the surrounding area, the forests and mountain ranges to the east, and the deserts to the south, had found their way into the apparently endless pockets in her cloak and she was all too eager to spread them all before the party and help them guess the most likely spot for Yaga-Shura's base of operations. As she pulled yet another map of the Forest of Mir and began to unroll it, Maera glanced at Kelsey, and mouthed _"Enchanted?",_ rolling her eyes in Melissan's direction. He nodded. She didn't know why it mattered, but for some reason it felt nice to have at least one minor mystery solved.

They were gathered in a curtained off back section of the Tankard Tree's common room, Melissan's influence having won them a bit of privacy for their planning process. "The army marched from the east," the woman said, tracing a finger over the map covered tabletop.

"Giants prefer mountainous areas," Jaheira reflected. "They tend to gather where the terrain suits their size."

"So we'd be looking around here." Imoen circled the area marked as the Marching Mountains with her fingertip.

"That's a big area to search," Maera said. "Do we know anything that would narrow that down?"

There was a snort from the shadows. "Have you forgotten the solar's words already, sister?" Sarevok interjected. "The pocket plane will send you where you need to go. Any more time or effort spent attempting to work out the giant's location with our own meager information is a waste of time."

Maera swung her gaze towards him. He'd been just quiet enough that she had been able to mostly ignore his presence for the past hour, and that had been rather pleasant. "Forgive me if I'm not quite willing to trust to some nebulous cosmic knowledge of what I 'need'. I would really love to know how the multiverse at large is making those determinations."

"You grow up surrounded by Alaundo's prophecies, and you have to ask that?"

"I must have missed the one that mentioned the street address of a fire giant's lair."

"Don't force me to explain the concept of a metaphor."

"Enough!" Jaheira glared at Sarevok, her eyes dark with anger. "If you do not cease being a distraction and an irritant, you will soon be gaining first-hand knowledge of the tensile strength of the human skull!"

"Don't worry, Jaheira," Maera said soothingly. "It's not like he's invited anyway."

The meeting broke up shortly thereafter. There was nothing to be gained from continuing to poke at Melissan's maps, and much as Maera hated to admit it, their best course, ultimately, was to trust in the pocket plane's direction. "Before we go," Kelsey said quietly, "I'd like to say good-bye to Kelvim and Mirena. I won't go into detail about what we're planning or anything, but...I need to tell him we're going. I don't want to just disappear on him again."

"Of course!" Maera replied. She took his hand in hers, giving it a tight squeeze. "Take your time."

"Thanks." He slipped past the partition, and headed up the stairs.

His knock was met with a grumbling, "Who is it?"

"Kelvim, it's me." The door opened, and his brother blinked blearily at him.

"It's a little late, Kelsey. Is something wrong?"

"I just wanted to let you know that...we're going to be leaving. Tonight."

Kelvim blinked again. "How do you expect to get out of here?"

"I can't really say." Kelsey leaned closer to his brother. "I wanted you to know that something is going to happen soon, and you and Mirena need to ready."

"Ready for what?"

"To get out of town."

This time, the blink was calculated, and Kelsey felt a stab of pride. His little brother had obviously inherited their father's quick wits. "Kelsey...do you really think five people can break this siege?"

Kelsey shrugged, hoping for confidence. "We're gonna try."

Kelvim looked at him for what felt like a year, and then his head dipped in a small nod. "Okay." He held out his hand. "Then be careful. We'll be waiting."

* * *

 

Maera watched Kelsey duck through the curtain, and felt a light tug on her belt. "Hey," Imoen said softly. "What's eatin' your brain, Mae?" She held up a warning finger as Maera inhaled. "And don't say zombies."

"Well, there goes my one good answer," Maera chuckled ruefully. "Gods, I would gladly deal with zombies right now instead of this mess. Just...bring 'em on. A whole army of the damn things." She sighed. "I'm really hoping this works, Im. There are so many things I can see going wrong, and I know we've faced long odds before with no good plan, but...eventually everybody runs out of luck. There's a whole city riding on this. It'd be a bad time for our dice to fail us."

Her sister made a slight, considering shrug. "Yeah, it would. But you know it's more than luck that's gotten us this far."

"I know. But anymore, I've found it almost better to underestimate myself." She tapped the side of her head. "Keeps unwanted visitors from using my ego against me."

Imoen pursed her lips. The dreams of blood and horror that tore her from sleep, the cruel voices that whispered in the back of her mind - they never seemed as personal as the inner battles Maera described. For an instant, she wondered at the difference, then dismissed it. As far as she was concerned, it really didn't matter, and besides, Bhaal obviously didn't know Maera very well if he really thought telling her what to do was his best option. She wrapped her arms around Maera's waist. "Just don't forget you're not in this alone, okay?"

Maera smiled. "Even if I could, you wouldn't let me." From over the top of Imoen's head, she could see Sarevok watching them with a strangely unreadable expression. She bared her teeth at him, and he looked away. _If you're feeling left out of the family bonding, maybe you shouldn't have tried soroicide_ _as your opening move_ , she thought at him pugnaciously.

Kelsey re-entered, and there was a second of something almost like sad envy as his eyes fell on her and Imoen. But it vanished with a shake of his head, and he gave Imoen a gentle poke in the shoulder. "Mind if I cut in?"

"Gods, grabby," she said, sticking out her tongue, but she moved nonetheless.

"Squared away?" Maera asked softly, returning his embrace.

"As much as it's going to be."

She nodded as they stepped apart. "Then I guess it's time to give this thing a try."

"Strange as it sounds," Jaheira said, "I am looking forward to sleep there, instead of here. Even if the amenities are no greater."

"Do be cautious," Melissan said. "I know better than to offer you advice on how best to manage this matter, but I will ask that of you."

"Hopefully when you see us next we'll have good news," Maera said. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She wasn't completely sure how to go about this process, but centering herself seemed like a good start.

_Where do I need to go?_

_Out of Saradush. To wherever Yaga-Shura’s base of power is._

_Why?_

_Someone has to. It might as well be me._

* * *

“Cespenar, I like what you’ve done with the place.” Imoen looked impressed, and the imp preened.

“It was big challenge,” he said modestly.

The pocket plane had been transformed in the brief time since they had last been there. Cespenar had put in his fountain, but it was water that poured from the elegant white marble fixtures and splashed about the prettily tiled basin. He had not been able to help himself with the furniture, either; despite Maera’s request, it was black, but the overstuffed chairs and soft sofas were so shockingly tasteful that one could willingly overlook that. There were even bedchambers – five small rooms sectioned off like cubes of stone, with surprisingly comfortable looking beds.

Maera, however, didn't see a bit of it. Her eyes were fixed on the first thing she had seen when her senses returned, and she could not force them away. Her voice was clipped and ragged with rage. "What the HELL are you doing here?"

Sarevok shrugged, the living embodiment of nonchalance. "It would seem, sister, that I have a greater use to you than you were willing to accede. How deeply ironic." He strode off towards the bedchambers, leaving an aura of intense, smug satisfaction in his wake. Maera looked around desperately for something to hit.

“Godchild. A word."

And there was the solar, appearing between one breath and the next, standing amongst them as if materializing out of thin air was the most natural thing in the world to do. And for her, it likely was. Cespenar ducked behind Imoen in a vain attempt to be inconspicuous, and the solar smiled. “Peace, little one. We are not enemies here.”

“Can I help you?” Maera asked uncertainly. There was nothing worse being thrown off her stride during a perfectly good fit of pique.

“Yes,” the solar replied serenely, holding out a hand twice the size of any in the room. “Join me.” Maera laid her palm against the large fingers, and suddenly, they were somewhere else entirely.

The room was dark, lit only by a single light, which had no visible source, and the solar herself. Maera looked about in confusion. “What just happened?”

“There was no need for your companions to be part of this, so we are elsewhere.”

“What is ‘this’?”

“Education. There is much you must learn.”

“So I’ve been told.”

The solar tilted her head. “You have been placed in the center of a great work, godchild. Do you doubt the need for preparation? For understanding?”

“Of course not. I just…don’t know why it’s me.”

“That is a lesson for another time. For now, our attention shall rest not on the external forces about you, but on you yourself.” The solar gestured, and two other figures appeared. With a start, Maera recognized them as herself. One was all too familiar – her Slayer-self, cold eyed and haughty of expression, wreathed in the shadows of Bhaal’s avatar. The other was rather more difficult to place. There was something subtly different about her face; this version of herself had never know gut-wrenching fear or bone-deep exhaustion. Those eyes had never witnessed violent death, never been stung with tears of grief. She was wearing a blue coat with silver embroidery around the collar, and suddenly Maera understood. She’d been very fond of that coat, but in the rush of packing to leave Candlekeep, she had forgotten it. “Do you know them, godchild?” the solar asked gently.

“I know her far too well,” Maera replied, pointing to the Slayer Maera, who smirked at her. “And I’m guessing that the other one is me before I left Candlekeep.”

“Very good. Why do you think that they are here?”

Maera looked back at her Slayer-self. “Well, she’s always popping up in my dreams, making a pest of herself. She never misses a chance, it seems. I’m not so sure about the other one, though. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say they are parts of me.”

“Indeed they are. One, the reflection of your divine essence as it wishes to manifest itself. The other, a personification of a more innocent self, before blood touched your hands.”

“Why are they here, Solar?”

“Because sooner or later, you had to face us.” The Slayer-self crossed her arms, looking bored. “You know, for someone with such a reputation for bravery, you’re very good at running away from yourself. She is your past, I am your future. If you’ll just accept that, we’ll all be a lot happier. Because all this ‘Get out of my head!’ ‘I don’t want anything from you!’…it gets really old.”

“She’s lying,” her Candlekeep-self said firmly. “You don’t have to sink to her level. Hers is not the only way.” A tendril of hope curled through Maera’s heart, only to be crushed out of existence by the next words. “We can leave all of this behind. It doesn’t have to be our responsibility. You can walk away, and be who we were before.” Her voice grew soft. "Weren't we happier then? Before all the pain and fear and anger?”

The Slayer snorted. “We are anger. We are rage. _We are murder_. It's our birthright! It is the reason we were put on this plane! How many mortals can claim to know the reason they were born? Well, we can!" She looked at Maera, her hard eyes incredulous. "Are you honestly going to let this infant tell you to walk away from that? To put aside our destiny because it’s scary?”

“Gorion did not raise us to be butchers!” Candlekeep Maera cried. “This isn't what he'd want for us, or from us. ”

Maera looked at them, at the malicious eyes and angry lips of the one, to the guileless, naïve features of the other. “Solar, I don’t understand the lesson. All I see are two equally unacceptable choices.” Their voices raised in protest, but they were hushed by the solar’s raised hand.

“Explain,” she said, her face placid.

“She,” Maera said, pointing to the Slayer-self, “already knows how I feel about her and what she has to offer. I may kill, but I will not murder.” The Slayer rolled her eyes huffily. “But she,” she continued, facing her Candlekeep self, “doesn’t offer anything better. I can’t walk away and forget about everything that’s happened to me since I left Candlekeep. I _was_ happy then, but I can still be happy now. There's been a lot of good to come with the bad since then. I've grown up, and no, that wasn't entirely by choice, but it's not something I can take back. I can’t be her again, no more than I can allow myself to turn into her. So I don’t understand what I’m supposed to learn from them.”

The two versions of her faded away, and the Solar smiled. “Do you not?”

* * *

 

Kelsey sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, bouncing a few times to test the mattress. “Not bad,” he murmured, giving the coverlet a poke. The little bedrooms were sparsely furnished, but Cespenar had obviously put his energy into quality, not quantity. He supposed that made the imp the butler, in a roundabout sort of way. He smiled, shaking his head in mild disbelief. He was fairly certain she had never had a butler before. Cespenar was quite a way to start.

She poked her head through the door. “Oh, there you are,” she said. She quietly sat beside him on the bed, her eyes distant.

“How’d it go with the solar?” he prompted.

“It was…interesting. Strange. Surreal.”

“On a scale of one to Having Breakfast with Sarevok, how surreal are we talking?”

That got a laugh. “I still can’t believe that happened.” She flopped backward onto the bed, covering her face. "Gods, and that was just this morning, too. I really need to sleep." He smiled, and was about to reach over to gently rub her stomach when she sat back up and said, “She did give me some useful information, though. We were right about the general location of Yaga-Shura’s base of operations. It's in the foothills of the Marching Mountains, and apparently the pocket plane will spit us out somewhere in the Forest of Mir that will put us on the right road. Sending us where we need to go and all that.” He nodded, and she stared at the coverlet, moving her fingers along the weave. After a moment of silence, she spoke softly. “Kelsey? If you could go back to a time in your life when there was nothing to be afraid of, when everything was clear, and easy…would you?”

He thought for a moment. “It’s been a long time since I felt like that. Not since my father died, at least. Sometimes I do miss it, though. When the world was wide open, and there was nothing he couldn’t do, because he was the smartest man in the world.” He shrugged vaguely and sighed. “But I guess we can’t live like that forever. No matter how much we’d want to.”

She was still engrossed by the blanket. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s just…I really was happy in Candlekeep. My whole world wasn't even a half mile square, bounded by walls twenty feet high, and I didn’t care. Everything was so simple. Everything made sense. Now it seems like there’s a million miles and an ocean of blood between me and the person I was then.”

Kelsey chewed on his lips thoughtfully. This was turning into one of those conversations that need just the right words. “I admit, I didn’t know you then, so maybe I can’t judge, but I have trouble believing the woman you are now is somehow diminished from you were before. You’ve come into a much bigger world, and it seems to me that you’ve grown to fit it.” He touched her chin, turning her downcast face to look her in the eye. “I am proud to know you, proud to be a part of your life, and I doubt very seriously you’ve changed so much in the past three years that I shouldn’t be. Look at yourself, Maera, and tell me that the world isn’t better off with the you who’s here now.”

There was a rueful edge to her chuckle. “How do you do that?” He raised his eyebrows questioningly. “You always manage to turn everything into a compliment.”

“It’s my job,” he said, firmly. “I meant what I said about being part of your life, and that means sometimes I have to remind you that you really are an amazing woman. I take my responsibilities very seriously, you know.”

She smiled. "That you do. And I'm glad. Helps keep me honest." She fumbled with the laces of her jerkin. "Ugh. I've been wearing this so long I feel like it's attached to my skin."

"That's no good." Kelsey began to help her peel off her leathers. "Your skin is much nicer than this."

"See?" Finally free of her armor, she lay on her back, arms spread wide. "You're doing it again."

"Is it a bad thing?"

She sat up just far enough to make a grab for his sleeve, pulling him down onto the bed beside her. "Never." She stared at the fabric of his shirtsleeve with the same absorption she had given the coverlet. “You’re taking this really well.”  
  
“Taking what well?”  
  
“A week ago,” she said, looking up to meet his eyes, “we were still in Suldanessellar. Now I have my own personal plane, and a solar for a tutor in lessons I can’t even begin to understand, and…I wouldn’t blame you at all for looking at me like I’d grown another head. I kind of feel like I have.”  
  
“Part god I can handle,” he said. “Part ettin?…I don’t know.” She laughed, and used his hand to cover her face. Pleased at her reaction, he grinned down at her, then sobered. “That’s it, though; you aren’t _normal._ I mean, you are…in a good way, but-” He paused to try gathering his thoughts. “You’re human, but you’re not. You’re mortal, but you’re not. I don’t pretend to understand how it works, and I probably never will. When I try thinking about it for too long, my brain seems to seize up, like…wax in a clockwork.”  
  
“That is a really good analogy,” Maera said, releasing his hand. “I may have to borrow it some time.”  
  
“Go ahead.” He lay on his side, facing her. “Maybe I don’t know enough to be appropriately terrified by this whole thing, but all I see is you, and you don’t look any different to me.”  
  
She smiled and touched his face. “Have I mentioned lately how lucky I am to have met you?” Her fingers stroked his cheek and he let his eyes close with a sigh. “Though…all things considered, maybe it wasn’t luck. Maybe it was because we needed each other.” She kissed his lips gently and whispered, “That’s the kind of celestial interference I can get behind.”

* * *

 

The solar’s word had been true, and they returned to the material plane in a dark tangle of trees. The Forest of Mir was no spacious, sunny wood, but vine-choked and twisted. Under the heavy branches, the chill of approaching autumn made them pull their cloaks closed about themselves. Maera was reminded of the Umar Hills, and wondered what manner of spirit or spell had created this oppressive murk. She hoped they didn’t have to find out.  
  
Half a day’s march along the winding forest track, they noticed a spur trail leading off a few hundred yards or so, where the ruined heap of a building stood, barely visibly through the trees. “We should check that out,” Imoen said, voice hushed. It did not feel right to speak loudly; the forest might take offense.  
  
“I do not think we have time for sightseeing, Imoen,” Jaheira replied, but Maera’s eyes were fixed on the ruins too.  
  
“No, Im’s right. We need to look around.”  
  
Jaheira raised an eyebrow, but Sarevok, who had brought up the rear in glowering silence all day, stepped ahead of her. “Lead on, sisters.” The druid’s eyes buried a dagger in his back, but she kept silent.  
  
A cool wind sent flurries of leaves across their path as they followed the trail, and Maera found her thoughts turning again to her interlude with the Solar. _Gorion didn’t raise us to be butchers._ The words, in a voice so much like her own, echoed in her mind, and she wasn’t sure why.  
  
“We are being watched by many eyes,” Minsc whispered to Kelsey, “but Boo cannot see them.” Kelsey shivered. It was like being back in Spellhold – that heavy sense of self-loathing he was sure he had thrown off by now tugged at the edges of his thoughts, whispering.  
  
They rounded a bend, and Maera suddenly stopped so short Imoen nearly walked into her back. “Hello, child,” said a familiar voice, and everything within her turned to water.  
  
He stood there, solid as life, blue eyes, gray beard, plain robe. His hair was pulled back into the messy tail he wore when he was studying; he hated it getting in his face as he read. She’d often teased him that his hair was longer than hers, and he’d always retorted with amused good humor that his age afforded him the right to wear his hair in any fashion he saw fit. She blinked hard – it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. Behind her, Sarevok coughed, a sound as full of disbelief as its nature would allow. Her voice finally asserted itself. “Gorion?”  
  
“Yes, child, it is I,” the figure said calmly, seeming to take no notice of the shock his appearance had caused. Imoen peered around her, eyes wide with hopeful incredulity.  
  
“What are you doing here? How are you here?” Her words tumbled over themselves.  
  
“I am here because you and I must have words. You walk a dangerous path, girl.”  
  
“I know,” she said, so relieved to have the chance to speak with her foster father again her questions could wait. “I’m just trying to do my best with what you taught me.”  
  
“Are you? For what I see is a girl who stumbles about blindly, as unsure of her own strength as a hound pup, and just as likely to cause harm. Though your harm might leave a man dead. As you did me.” She stared; a man born without a tongue would have been more eloquent than she at that moment. “And I see you travel now with my murderer. Would that I could be surprised, but for all your protestations of doing good, I see merely one who does what is convenient, not what is right. The road of righteousness is narrow and rocky, but you’ve managed to avoid the harder stretches. All the threats and lies. And the murder. Let us not forget the murders. “  
  
“W-wait…” she stammered, but he continued, remorseless as an executioner.  
  
“I have watched you all these years since I was cut down. Watched you slip ever farther from the innocent I raised. Watched you draw nearer and nearer to the blackness within, embracing the taint of Bhaal even as you claim to spurn it. The world may not see it, not yet, but I do. Who better than I?”  
  
“Gorion!” Imoen cried, pleading. “Please! What are you saying? Maera has never stopped being a good person. You should know that!”  
  
“And you,” he said coldly, “my second hope. I went back out into the world to seek you, and for what? For you to be a petty thief and a dabbler in base magics. A failure, just like the others she’s surrounded herself with.”  
  
“Failures?” Jaheira’s voice was stiff with anger. “Old friend, if death brings such bitterness, I hope never to die.”  
  
Gorion’s laugh was harsh and unnatural. “Ever the biting wit, Jaheira. Others have suffered under it. Your poor, henpecked husband for one. What a relief it must have been to die and be free of you.” Jaheira reeled as if he had physically struck her, head turning from the verbal blow. “Dear Khalid. Stuttering, simpering Khalid. Did you set aside any time to mourn him? To grieve and let your heart mend? No, you left him there in that dungeon to rot. Literally. If a man is known by how he is remembered, then you’ve done a fine job indeed.” Minsc, broad face was dark with ire, stepped in front of the druid, whose eyes were shining with furious tears, but Gorion bore down mercilessly. “Who else was left in the mage’s dungeon, ranger? Your witch. Your mistress. Your oath. You gave your word you would bring her back in safety, but there wasn’t anything left to bring. You failed her, and it does not matter what battlecries you make, you will never balance the scale. She was your only chance, and yet you live. Not her.”  
  
The big man’s chin trembled like a child’s. “We…we could not save her. Even Boo could do nothing…”  
  
“My gods!” Kelsey could no longer contain himself. “What is this? Everyone talks about what a good man you were, and here you stand, torturing them all! Why are you doing this?”  
  
“Ah. Kelsey. The shopkeeper’s son.” The hard blue eyes fell on him, burying him like a rockslide. “Rest assured, my boy. You have my approval. Who better to bed this wayward girl than you? Your hands are almost as red as hers, and you started even younger. And with your father…a masterful touch. But then, you’ve protested your innocence in his death so much you actually believe it now.”  
  
“That isn’t how sorcery works. I didn’t kill him.” Kelsey fought to keep his voice steady. The battle was not going in his favor.  
  
“Yes, I’m sure it gives you great comfort to believe that.” The contempt in Gorion’s voice was thick as fog. “All that power doesn’t come from thin air. Now you simply kill them outright, magic feeding magic, but you had to start somewhere. What delightful symmetry, too, to begin with the man who helped bring your miserable hide into this world in the first place. Was it because you knew you’d never measure up, never be half the man he was? And was it everything you hoped for, making your mother a widow? And your poor brother…he wasn’t really old enough to understand death, was he?” Kelsey gasped, and Gorion turned back to Maera, face alight with grim satisfaction. “Do you see them now, child? Do you see them for what they are? What they have helped you be?”  
  
Maera’s head was bowed, her eyes clenched shut, though that did little to impede the tears trickling down her face. “Stop it,” she said in a broken whisper. “You are not Gorion. Gorion would never be so cruel.” Her head came up, eyes opened, breath ragged with yet-unshed tears. “Whenever he was disappointed in me, no matter what, he always made it clear he loved me. He loved me! Even if I didn’t feel like I deserved it. So whoever you are, you missed that.”  
  
The creature wearing Gorion’s face laughed, but the voice was no longer his. Its form shifted, stretched, and darkened even as the laughter continued. “What a shame,” the wraith chuckled, its voice like a rasp on the ears. “I had hoped to stretch the game a little longer. I suppose I overplayed my hand, but you were all so delicious. Really good self-loathing is like a fine wine.”  
  
Maera’s face hardened. “How about I direct some loathing towards you, then,” she hissed, pulling Daystar from its sheath.  
  
The humor was gone from the wraith’s strange voice. “You cannot hurt me with steel, fool.”  
  
“Good thing I have more than steel at my disposal.” She swung, the blade cutting a wide arc through the air, her heart crying a wolf’s howl of pain. She’d wanted it to be him. She’d so desperately wanted it. The wraith’s mockery had torn at the bandages she had so carefully bound about her heart, leaving the wound bare and raw once more, and in her mind, she was on the Coastway road again on that chilly spring morning, Imoen holding her as she sobbed over Gorion’s body. She was back in Irenicus’s dungeon, remembering Minsc’s roar of heartbroken rage, remembering Jaheira’s fingers bruising her arm as she stared sightless at Khalid’s broken remains. And she ached for Kelsey, seeing the loss that had marked his life and fed his fears and doubts reduced to a joke for the wraith’s amusement. As if in response, comforting her in the only way it could, Daystar began to glow. The bright blade cut deep, and the party descended on the lone creature, their pain pushing them on. It screeched in agony, and as it died, Maera savagely hoped it felt half the hurt it had caused.  
  
A trembling silence hung over them in the moments that followed. “It got inside our heads,” Maera said, more to remind herself than anyone one. “It told us what we were afraid was true, not what actually is.”  
  
“Yeah,” Imoen murmured, nodding. Maera looked around her group, at their sadly thoughtful faces, and back to Sarevok. She gave him a defiant look, daring him to speak, but he wisely chose to keep his peace. She straightened her shoulders.  
  
“Let’s get moving.”

* * *

 

The ruins proved to be an old temple, though any trace of the god once worshipped there had long since vanished. Under a stone dome, a fire crackled, trying vainly to keep back the damp forest chill. An old woman sat before it, a ragged figure in an ancient cloak, her wild white hair half-covering her craggy face. “The flames told Nyalee you would come,” she said as they approached.  
  
“Who is Nyalee?” Jaheira asked.  
  
“Nyalee is me, greensister, and I am Nyalee,” the woman replied. “The fire always knows.”  
  
“What does it say?” Maera looked at the fire curiously. It seemed perfectly normal to her.  
  
“It says you have come for the boy. Nyalee’s boy.”  
  
“Actually, we…” But the old witch continued, her stream of thought unabated.  
  
“Nyalee found the child. He was her own element – it was a sign! Loved him like her own, too, even though he was big as a man grown in five years. Raised him up, and such fun we had. Taught him secrets of the flames…it seemed only right.”  
  
Understanding dawned. “Your boy is Yaga-Shura,” Maera said.  
  
“Yes,” Nyalee said, her eyes never once moving from the flickering flames. “You must kill him, mustn’t you?”  
  
“He leads an army that is besieging a city full of innocent people,” Maera answered, unnerved by the woman’s inflectionless voice. “We have to stop him.”  
  
The witch nodded. “But he still uses Nyalee’s magic. The fire protects his heart, and while it does, he cannot die.”  
  
“Can you help us?” Maera swallowed nervously. “Will you?”  
  
There was no sound but the crackle of the fire. “Nyalee should long since be dead,” she said finally. “But the boy keeps her heart in the fire, too, in case he needs her.” A tinge of bitterness, the first emotion she had yet expressed, colored her tone. “What sort of child would use a parent so? Keeps her heart away from her, so she cannot even die when she chooses.” She looked up, and Maera saw with a start that her eyes were milky white. “He has a grand fort down the forest road, in the hills. Few will be there now as he makes war. Go you there, and fetch those hearts from the fire. Nyalee will mend all.” With that, she turned her face back to the fire, clearly finished with them. Cautious glances flicked between the group before finally, and quietly, they departed.

* * *

  
  
They continued on in silence for several hours, until they came upon a clearing a short distance off the road that would make a good campsite. Little was said as the firepit was dug and the tents were pitched. Sarevok vanished to the darkness beyond the ring of firelight, and they sat, lost in thought, each surrounded by a cold circle of empty space, until Imoen spoke.  
  
“Mae, do you remember those bounty hunters we fought outside Nashkel?”  
  
“Which ones?”  
  
“It was right after we beat Mulahey. We’d taken that side tunnel out of the mine, and wound up five miles from the main entrance. We were almost back when we got ambushed.”  
  
“Oh, yeah. That bunch.”  
  
“I don’t really remember the fight all that well, because of that guy with the hammer.” She elaborated for Kelsey’s sake. “Back of the head. It was messy.” He winced in horror.  
  
“It is fortunate Branwen was with us then,” Jaheira said quietly. “I am not sure I could have saved you on my own.” She turned to look Imoen full in the face. “Why do you mention this?”  
  
“Because the first thing I remember, when I woke up, was Khalid. He was leaning over me, and he was washing my hair. Getting out the blood. That was the kind of guy he was.”  
  
Jaheira’s eyes suddenly glistened in the firelight, and Maera said quickly, “Maybe we shouldn’t-”  
  
“No,” Jaheira said firmly. “No, she is right. That is exactly the sort of man he was. He would find something he could do, always, even if it was a small thing. And usually, it was the one thing everyone else overlooked.” She sighed sadly. “Perhaps the wraith was right. I have not mourned him as I should.”  
  
“Jaheira…Khalid would understand,” Maera said. “He always understood.”  
  
The druid smiled slightly, eyes downcast. “He did. He was forgiving to a fault. I never understood how one who came from such difficult beginnings could be so open-hearted.”  
  
Heads nodded around the fire, and they sat in quiet reflection for a moment longer. Then Maera said, with an almost impish smile, “Why don’t you tell the story of how you met?”  
  
“I do not know…” But she was drowned out by the chorus of encouragement, and, with a roll of her eyes, cried, “Very well, very well! If I must!” Jaheira sighed, giving her audience a reproving smile. “We were introduced by Gorion, actually, and he was so quiet at first, I was sure he didn't like me very much…”  
  
And so the stories began, one memory happily sparking another. Kelsey slipped an arm around Maera’s shoulders, and she gratefully burrowed against his side, kissing his cheek. Imoen stretched out between Jaheira and Minsc, her head in the lap of the former, and feet with the latter. “Remember the time Dynaheir slapped Elminster?”  
  
“She did not!” Kelsey laughed.  
  
“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard the stories about him,” Imoen said, grinning. “He likes the ladies, and Dynaheir was very pretty. And she had that whole aloof thing going which some men really get into, except she actually meant it. So of course, she didn’t appreciate being appreciated like that, and let him know.”  
  
“He should have kept his hands to himself,” Minsc said decisively.  
  
“You left out the best part!” Maera admonished.  
  
“Oh yeah…she did it right in front of Duke Eltan. We were all in his receiving chamber, and Elminster got a little handsy, and SMACK!” She brought her hands together in a sharp clap. “It echoed.”  
  
As the cheerful chatter continued, Maera gazed beyond the edge of the light, where she could barely make out Sarevok’s lonely outline, keeping watch with his back to the fire. She gently shrugged Kelsey's arm from her shoulder and stood, holding up a finger to indicate she would be right back. Sarevok did not immediately acknowledge her, and she stood silently near him for a moment, her cloak wrapped around her like a shield, unsure of what to say. When he showed no sign of speaking, she sighed, and turned back, but before she had taken a step, he said, “I suppose I should count myself fortunate the wraith had no words for me.”  
  
“Don’t you have to have a conscience to have someone on it?” Strangely, she found her heart wasn't in the barb.  
  
“You would think that.”  
  
“Anybody I'd know?”  
  
“Yes, actually.” He continued to look up at the sky. “I put her in your path with no more thought than one would give a loosed arrow.” His head dropped, and he added softly, “I used her very poorly. And she did not even have the decency to hate me for it.” Maera stared at his back for a moment, then turned, and walked back towards the fire. She didn't have to ask who he meant.  
  
There was another gale of laughter from the circle of firelight. “Poor Khalid was sooooo embarrassed.” Imoen giggled.  
  
“He should not have been.” Jaheira's smile was warm with remembered affection. “It was an honest mistake.” Maera sat back beside Kelsey, curling against his side and resting her head on his shoulder. “Kelsey,” the druid said, turning her smile to him, “You have listened enough. It is your turn. Tell us about your father.”


	28. All Things Ablaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“So, what do you know about fighting giants?”_

The trees thinned as the land folded into rocky hills along the base of the Marching Mountains, and the sun was sinking over the brick-red hills as they reached their destination. Nyalee had directed them rightly; Yaga-Shura’s base of operations would be hard to miss even if it had not been created to fire giant proportions. Carved from the rock face itself, there was a sort of arrogance in the stone fortress. The thirty-foot metal doors were boastfully flung open, daring the world to cross the master of such an edifice. Maera was unimpressed.

“Im, clearly, we have been doing this all wrong,” she commented as they gazed up the narrow gorge leading to the fortress. “All this time, we could have been building ugly, overblown lairs and recruiting armies of hapless underlings. I feel so unaccomplished.”

Imoen nodded gravely. “Where did we go wrong?”

Sarevok scoffed at them both. “Think of what you might have done if you _had_ built yourselves an army. Let us be honest, sisters. The Five would be the least of anyone’s worries had you chosen that route.”

“You know, I think he’s trying to compliment us. It’s like he doesn’t quite know how,” Maera remarked to Imoen, who bobbed her head in solemn agreement. Kelsey had to bite his fist to keep from laughing, and Jaheira coughed into her hand to cover a smirk. But Sarevok would not be deterred.

“Look at what you have accomplished with a small band. Imagine your successes if you had aimed a little higher. You could have imposed your will on Baldur’s Gate in the wake of my defeat.”

“I did,” Maera replied calmly. “It was my will that it continue on exactly as it had before. I hear they’ve done a good job of it, too.” Sarevok exhaled a huff of frustration; the conversation had clearly not gone in the direction he had intended. She continued to look towards Yaga-Shura’s fortress, the wheels turning as she made mental notes. In the light of the setting sun, the hills seemed to have caught fire. “All right. We’ve been out here for an hour and there’ve been no obvious patrols, but I highly doubt he’s left the place undefended. We’ve got the evening though, so that gives us some time to familiarize ourselves with the territory. We’ll split up and scout the area.” Heads nodded in agreement. “Except you, Im. I need to know the inside of that place, and you’re the one who can find it out for me.” Imoen beamed, and Maera turned her eyes to Sarevok. He almost managed to cover his surprise at being directly addressed. “So, what do you know about fighting giants?”

He considered her question. “The important thing is to get their feet out from under them.”

* * *

 

They took advantage of the evening light to acquaint themselves with the outlying area of Yaga-Shura’s fortress while Imoen, cloaked in invisibility, scouted the interior. Regrouped at their campsite near the mouth of the ravine, they shared their information and began to sketch out their plan of assault.

“Pretty straightforward layout, at least on the first floor,” Imoen said, using a stick to point out features on the map she had traced in the dirt. “There only seem to be two levels, but I could be wrong. I didn’t head upstairs, though – didn’t want to push my luck. There are guard posts here and here,” she indicated the locations with circles, “but the place is wide open, no real doors and straight sightlines, so we’re going to have to move fast to keep them from ganging up on us.” She tapped her stick thoughtfully on the map. “There’s gotta be a way to take advantage of that…”

“We’ll let that stew for now,” Maera said. “Everybody take it easy tonight; we need to be rested and on top of our game in the morning.” Even Sarevok found nothing to argue with in that statement, and they broke their planning huddle to seek the relative relaxation their small camp could offer.

It was Minsc and Maera’s turn to handle the post-supper cleanup, and the ranger dove into the task with his typically hard-applied work ethic, though he did grumble under his breath that it wasn’t fair that Boo always managed to get out of pulling his weight. Maera took to it as she always had any odious chore; working fast to get it over with. She hastily finished scouring the pot before her (but not too hastily – Jaheira did not believe in cut corners), dumping out the sand and giving it a quick wipe. As she stood, she noticed Kelsey disappear behind the tents, and there was something restless in the set of his back. She followed, pushing through the break of scrub trees to find him sitting on a rock, face tight with concentration. She wanted to ask him if something was wrong, but his expression stilled her words. His right hand raised, his fist clenched, and suddenly an icicle the length of her leg dropped from the clear sky, plowing into the ground six inches from her feet.

“That’s a start,” he said to himself, and seemed to notice her. “Oh gods, I didn’t even see you there, Maera! I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay,” she replied, smiling and giving the icicle a nudge. “That was… unexpected.”

“Not quite what I had in mind, though. Take a step back, I’m going try to again.” She complied, and this time, a dozen icicles sliced through the evening air to gouge deep postholes in the red-orange earth. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said, panting slightly. His hand lifted again, this time on its side, and a sheet of ice crept between the icicles, covering the ground like moss. He nodded to himself, and looked back up at her. “So what do you think? I mean, I know it's not fire, but I hope you’re still impressed.”

She gave him a narrow, suspicious look. “Are you making fun of me?”

He held up his thumb and forefinger, separated by about an inch or so. “Maybe a little.” She stuck her tongue out at him, the bold retort of a proud warrior, and he grinned. Standing, he wove through the rapidly melting ice field towards her. It's just that I haven't really done much with ice, and I figured that, well, fire giants. It wouldn't hurt to brush up.”

“That's a good idea. And I definitely think this'll get somebody's attention.”

“That _is_ the point.” He poked at the nearest icicle, and it wobbled. “I envy Imoen sometimes. As long as she knows a spell, she can cast it, and there's nothing to stop her from learning as many spells as she can fit in her head. But if it doesn't come to me, it just...doesn't come.”

“I guess that's true,” Maera said, “but comparisons are tricky things, honey. Look at it this way: what Im can do, anybody with a head for magic can. Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of her and I’m grateful for what she’s learned. She's smart and she's got a lot of talent. But…” She shrugged. “I dunno, I guess I’ve just spent too much of my life around mages to get too excited about arcane magic.”

“Gorion was a mage, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah. Along with three fourths of the Readers in the Keep.” She chuckled quietly. “Did I ever tell you he tried to teach me magic?”

“How’d that go?”

She glanced down at herself, armor clad with a sword of her hip, and her smile broadened. “You tell me.” She reached for his hand, rubbing the palm with her thumb. “The thing is, spellcasting is a process. You say the right things, in the right way, with the right components, and poof, magic. And it's the same, every single time. But with you, your sorcery...it's unique. No one else in the world has _your_ magic, and no one else ever will. That's what makes it amazing.”

The edges of his ears were red, and he looked at her for a prolonged moment before he spoke. “I definitely don't have a monopoly on the compliment department.” She laughed, pleased with herself.

“Well, that keeps things fair, right?”

He decided to let a kiss be his reply, and just as their arms entwined, there was a noise behind them in the trees. “Oh good,” Imoen said, “I caught you before the clothes started to come off.” She glanced at the icicles. “Nice work, Kels. Practice, or some kind of kinky thing I don’t wanna know about?”

They sighed in unison. “Can we help you, Im?” Maera asked.

“I'm bored. Red needs to entertain me by losing at checkers again.”

“Well, when you put it like that, how can I say no?” Kelsey made no sign of movement.

“Exactly!” Imoen grabbed his sleeve and tugged him free of Maera's arms. “C'mon.”

She dragged him back towards the tents, Kelsey gazing back at Maera with persecution in his eyes. She shook her head, commiserating and mildly guilty for sacrificing him on the altar of Imoen’s boredom. Hopefully he would forgive her. And she needed to sharpen Daystar anyway.

She settled in near the fire to do that as Kelsey and Imoen went to battle over their improvised board, and quickly fell into the comforting lull of tending her weapon. “ _A sword is a tool,”_ the Gatewarden had said, long before he had ever allowed her to wield actual steel. _“It has a purpose, and you should respect that purpose. The best way to show your respect is to treat your sword like the extension of your arm it is.”_ She could not say how many swords he’d had her sharpen, how many hours she’d spent with flint and honing steel, but her teenaged resentment of the tediousness of the task had slowly melted into a realization of its necessity. And she wasn’t ashamed to admit that in Daystar’s case, it was an act of love. She’d be very fond of Varscona, the trophy from Nashkel that she had carried against Sarevok, but Daystar engendered something deeper. She truly loved the sword, not just for its elegant beauty or its devastating power, but because, like so many of the things dearest to her, it had come into her life just when she needed it.

Imoen's voice cut through her musing. “You cheated.” The little thief sat with her hands on her hips, glaring at Kelsey, who gaped at her.

“What? How is it even possible to cheat at checkers?”

“I don’t know,” Imoen said, “but you did.” She subjected him to a fierce, narrowed stare. “It was sorcery, wasn’t it? You used sorcery to cheat.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous. You’re just mad because I won.”

“Because you cheated.”

“I did not cheat!”

Maera shook her head as the squabble continued. They were maddening when they got going, but she could see the affection underlying the contention, and that brought a smile to her face, even when she felt like knocking their heads together. She sheathed Daystar and stood, stretching her arms over her head with a yawn. A half turn to her left brought her face to face with Sarevok, and she sighed. “What now?”

He bent his head in Imoen and Kelsey’s direction, where the argument carried on energetically. “Doesn’t it concern you, sister?”

“What? I know they sound like they’re two seconds from setting each other on fire, but they don’t mean anything by it. They’re friends.”

“Are you sure of that?”

She almost managed not to roll her eyes. “I’m pretty positive they’re not actually planning to murder each other, yeah.”

“That isn’t what I meant."

She cocked an eyebrow. “What are you angling at, Sarevok?”

“Don’t you worry where their bickering could lead? Or where it already has?”

He wasn’t really implying what it sounded like he was implying, was he? She stared at him, both eyebrows elevated in incredulity. “You know, trying to spread dissension in the ranks probably isn’t a good idea right now, and not just because it’ll piss me off.”

“I am perfectly serious, sister.”

“Are you now?” One way to nip this in the bud. She swung her head toward Imoen, Kelsey, and their continued ethical debate. “Hey, Im! You screwing Kelsey behind my back?”

 _That_ brought an immediate cessation to hostilities. “Ew!” Imoen cried. “Like I’d want your sloppy seconds!”

“Sloppy seconds?” Kelsey sounded unsure whether he should be offended or not.

Maera looked back at Sarevok. “Nope. Not concerned.”

* * *

 

The dawn found them returned to the curve in the ravine, watching a quintet of bored fire giants lumber back into the fortress after completing an unenthused patrol that hadn’t taken them nearly far enough to even suspect they were being watched. “I am beginning to think that Yaga-Shura did not leave his best troops here in reserve,” Jaheira remarked.

“Good news for now, likely not so good news for later,” Maera replied

“I’ve been thinking about the floor plan problem,” Imoen said, “and I have an idea, but the heavy lifting’s gonna be on Kels here, so I didn’t want to just volunteer him.”

“That is surprisingly considerate of you, Imoen,” Kelsey said.

She shrugged, all false modesty and bonhomie. “I’m a giver.”

“I always enjoy a good plan,” Maera said, looking to head off the looming battle of banter. “Hit me.”

Imoen outlined her strategy as they trekked up the gorge, and Maera had to chuckle at its main component. “Observation births inspiration, huh, Im?” Imoen rolled her eyes.

“You and those darn proverbs. But…yeah, pretty much.”

Maera glanced at Kelsey. “Think you can do it?”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult,” he said after a moment’s thought. “Put me where you need me.” They shared a quick, flirtatious smile, and Sarevok looked as if he were going to be ill.

Kelsey and Imoen went ahead and stood against one of the huge doors. With the sun streaming in through the open doorway, they was all but invisible to the loitering guards, who were obviously wondering how they had managed to get stuck at the home base while the rest of the army was off doing more interesting things. Heat rose from the interior of Yaga-Shura’s fortress like the blast from an oven. Hot, dry air swirled in miniature cyclones on the threshold where it met the cooler mountain wind. “See that little sorta bluish stone in the floor, about twenty feet out? Shaped like an H?” Imoen asked in a whisper. He nodded. “That’ll be our mark.” He nodded again, following her gaze as she watched the guards plod by, marking their steps with tiny nods of her head. “Now,” she breathed.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, feeling the magic within slither through his mental fingers like fine silk. This would be tricky, and time was not on his side. Raising his hands, he let the power surge through them, and starting from that one small stone, a slick of ice nearly half an inch thick spread across the floor, racing for the corners of the immense room. Light-headed from concentration, he smiled with satisfaction. Even six months before, he had not had even half that control. Amazing what regular practice could do.

The guards raised the alarm, but to a one, slipped and lost their footing, going down with roars of pain, anger, and surprise. “My turn,” Imoen muttered, extending her hands and not bothering to keep her incantation to herself. The gusting wind in the doorway suddenly howled, carrying with it claws of snow and ice that lashed the fallen guards mercilessly. But in the heat of the fire giants’ lair, not even the most magical of ice could last long. Fortunately, that was part of the plan too. Steam from the swiftly melting ice billowed through the doors, and that was Maera’s cue. With a shout, the rest of the party descended on the downed giants.

Even with the giants’ height advantage nullified, it was messy work dispatching them. The aftermath found them all covered in bruises and blood, though little enough of it was their own. “Good plan, Im,” Maera said, wiping ineffectually at the beads of sweat along her hairline. “Gods, it’s hot in here. I’m impressed you got the ice to last as you did, Kelsey.” He soaked in her praise like a besotted schoolboy, and Imoen rolled her eyes at him, grinning.

A massive flight of steps dominated the far end of the hall, and ascending them proved a challenge, as they had been intended for legs twice as long as even Sarevok’s. After a brief pause at the top to catch their collective breath, they pressed on, Imoen scouting ahead silent as a cat. The second floor was a maze of giant-proportioned rooms, most of them deserted. They stole deeper and deeper through the hallways, alert for any sign of fiery hearts (however they might present themselves) until they came to an enormous set of double doors, almost the equal of the entrance to the fort itself. Fortunately, they were ajar, for Maera did not see how they could open anything that huge under their own strength. Imoen padded back from her recognizance, holding up four fingers. “Looks like Yaga-Shura’s quarters – they’re too fancy to be anybody else’s. But he left some friends. And I don’t think the ice thing will work in there. It’s just too hot.”

“Well,” Maera said, smiling humorlessly. “They get to enjoy the dubious pleasure of fighting enemies who can stab them in the crotch.”

She took in the room at a glance as they charged in. The furnishings were few, but ornate; a single bed, a pair of chairs, a desk – and a huge, shallow copper brazier as wide as a man’s height. It smoked and hissed, and in the flames there were two vague, lumpy shapes. The hearts. The fire crackled endlessly, but there no obvious source of fuel. The giants stood at its cardinal points, a guard of honor, it seemed, and the largest of the quartet shouted, “You shall not touch the master’s heart!” He raised his hands and began an incantation. It didn’t sound like arcane magic to Maera’s admittedly uneducated ear, but whatever he was doing, he couldn’t be allowed to finish.

“Im, Kelsey! Shut him up!” she cried, and turned her attention to the nearest giant. She had discovered downstairs that the giants’ armor had something of a flaw: their greaves did not wrap quite far enough around the thigh to prevent a precisely aimed strike from cutting the major artery in the leg. _They might want to look into that_ , she thought as she hamstrung her target and sliced through the blood vessel, rolling out of his way as he went down.

When she came to her feet, it was already over. Minsc had Jaheira seated on the floor, and with a practiced motion, popped her left shoulder back into place before handing her a potion. Sarevok, sword still in hand, was eyeing the brazier with a mix of curiosity and caution. “A curious manner of preserving life,” he said. “One wonders what other secrets the fire witch knows.”

“What does it matter?” Maera asked, helping Jaheira to her feet. “We’re not here for secrets.”

“Your short-sightedness is truly astounding,” he snorted. “You really do just get along on blind luck, don’t you?”

Maera refused to be baited. “Whatever gets the job done.” She approached the brazier. It was low by fire giant standards, which meant its rim was even with her nose. Though the fire was obviously magical in nature, it was most definitely real. Her scalp tingled with the heat. She bit her lip, thinking. “Jaheira. Cast a fire protection on me. Looks like I’ve got to go to them.”

Outlined by a pale orange aura, Maera gripped the edge of the brazier, and with a push from Minsc, scrambled over the edge. Even through Jaheira’s protective magic, the heat pressed on her like a heavy hand, and she knew she would not have long. The two hearts sat in the deepest part of the bowl, and despite the blaze that surrounded them; they still looked as if they had just been plucked from their respective chests. Maera had seen her fair share of internal organs in her time, but for some reason, the sight made her stomach roll. Part of her wanted to just kick the nasty things out of the brazier and be done as fast as she could, but the other urged moderation, so she gently lowered first Nyalee’s small heart over the edge into Minsc’s waiting hands, covered by the oilcloth Imoen had just fireproofed, and then Yaga-Shura’s, which was the size of her head. She lowered herself back down, watching the fire aura fade as her feet touched the floor again. She wiped her forehead again, sweat stinging her eyes. “I could really use some air.”

* * *

 

After the heat of the fire giant fortress, it was a relief to be back on the mountain path. Evening was approaching, and the first stars were glittering on the purple edge of the eastern sky. They made camp a few miles down the road, and it seemed reasonable to believe that they could get back to Nyalee shortly after noon the following day.

“I do not know why we have to feed him,” Jaheira groused, setting down a small pan of quick bread to cook in the ashes. “In fact, I have yet to hear a truly satisfactory answer for why he is here to begin with!”

Maera gave the stew a dispirited stir. She didn’t have to ask which ‘he’ Jaheira was referring to. “I’ll be honest – I can’t explain it myself. I really wish I knew why he got brought back into the pocket plane with us, but since he’s here, the least I can do is make some use of him. And as long as he’s with us, I don’t have to worry about what I’ve unleashed on the world bringing him back to life.”

“Maera.” Jaheira snatched the spoon out of Maera’s hand and focused stern eyes upon her. “You owe him nothing. In fact, in restoring him to life, he owes _you_. Send him on his way. Do not let some misplaced sense of responsibility tie you to him.”

“You’re right, druid.” Sarevok sat with his back to a tree, at a distance they had assumed to be out of earshot. “I do owe her. And if I choose to repay that debt by lending my sword to her cause, what is it to you?”

“I am her friend,” Jaheira bristled. “It is everything to me.”

“She is a grown woman,” he replied. “She does not need a mother.”

Jaheira inhaled sharply, eyes flashing. Maera gritted her teeth in annoyance. “What I need is for me to decide,” she announced. “You,” she pointed at Sarevok, “can take your insights and shove them.” She looked back at Jaheira and lowered her voice. “Jaheira…don’t worry about him. He’s my problem.”

She remained awake long after the moon had risen, pacing the perimeter of their camp, edgy and restless. In the morning, she thought, they would return to Nyalee, and hope the fire witch did not have a change of heart. The unintentional pun made her groan, and she rounded the corner of her self-imposed route, irritated with herself for even thinking it. Imoen and Kelsey sat near each other at the base of a broad pine as Maera paced by. “My gods, Mae, if you do not sit down, I will break your knees,” Imoen declared, her head propped wearily against the tree trunk.

Kelsey held out a beseeching hand, and with a grumble, Maera settled between his legs. “You’ve got to rest,” he said gently. “You know we’re not going to get this done any faster getting worked up.”

“What if this whole thing was the wrong move, Kelsey? Gromnir was crazy, and Nyalee's no better,” she whispered tersely. “What if we've followed the one lead out of Saradush that will get us nowhere?”

He nuzzled her ear, sliding a hand up her back to rub her neck, though he was somewhat thwarted by the high collar of her jerkin. “Do you think those hearts would have been there like that if there wasn't something special about them? That Yaga-Shura would have had them _guarded_ if they weren’t? We're moving against him, Maera. We're lessening his power, and that’ll be to our advantage. You'll see.”

“You’re awfully sure of that.”

“I have to be.” He rested his chin on her shoulder. “Remember what I said about my responsibilities? Letting you know I believe in you is one of them.”

“That doesn't mean you have to be a yes man, honey.”

“Hey.” He poked her in the side. It didn't have much of an impact due to the thickness of the leather at her midriff, but she was contrite nonetheless.

“I'm sorry,” she said, resting her head against his. “That...didn't come out right.”

“It's okay. But do you think any of us would have gone along with this if we didn't think it was our best option?”

“Because we have so many right now.” She sighed heavily. “I can't help but feel like if I'd done something different...if I'd been smarter somehow, I wouldn't have needed to drag all of you into this.”

“Maera,” he murmured, “I'm going to keep telling you you're not in this alone until you believe it.”

She sighed again and leaned back against his chest, and he kissed her hair, thankful to feel her body relax. The moon was high overhead, the night cool and breezy, and the woods were rich with the scent of dew and late summer growth. Kelsey began to seriously contemplate the virtues of simply sleeping there against the tree with her, and a slight snore from his left revealed that Imoen had already considered, and decided for, a similar plan. But there were eyes on him.

Sarevok’s hawk-like gaze rested on him and Maera, his dark face utterly inscrutable. Kelsey’s eyes narrowed as he stared back, inexplicably affronted. He hated the way Sarevok spoke to her, but the way he looked at her was worse. There was something about it that summoned up some dark, possessive, primeval instinct that he couldn’t quite articulate. His jaw set stubbornly. Maera's old enemy seemed to think facing her in battle gave him some special insight into her, entitled him to some special consideration, but all Kelsey saw was someone who needed to figure out that his version of reality was not the one everyone else was using. So he held Sarevok’s gaze and saw a spasm of something – Anger? Disgust? Resignation? – cross the warrior’s face before he looked away.

Maera murmured to herself, and Kelsey, realizing she was asleep, wrapped his cloak tighter around them, and let himself nod off.

* * *

 

Nyalee was in the exact spot in which they had left her, and Maera couldn’t help but wonder if she ever left it. Staring into her fire, the old witch said, “You have brought the hearts. Nyalee can feel them.” She held out her hands, and Maera carefully placed the bundled, burning hearts beside her. Nyalee opened the larger one first, and ran her hands over the contours of Yaga-Shura’s heart, the heat apparently no cause for distress. “When this thing is done, the boy will be mortal once more. He will be bleed again, and so he will die. Ironic, yes, that we must have our life’s blood to die?” She whispered odd, archaic words over the heart, her bent fingers tracing patterns across its surface. The flames sputtered as though blown by a draft, suddenly roared to an inferno pitch, engulfing Nyalee’s body entirely, and were just as suddenly gone, leaving her completely unburnt, and empty handed. She repeated the process with her own small heart, and when the flames disappeared, she stared down at her empty hands, an odd expression on her withered face. “Strange to have a heart again. Strange to feel.”

Maera knelt beside her, head tilted. “What do you feel, Nyalee?”

“Sad,” the old woman whispered, pressing a hand to her left breast. “Nyalee loved the boy. And now he must die.”

“I am like your boy,” Maera said softly. “I was raised by a man who loved me, the way you loved him. This is not your fault. You did nothing wrong.”

Nyalee turned her milk glass eyes to Maera. “No. You are not like him.” She looked back at the fire. “Nyalee is very old. And tired. Perhaps she will die now. She has long wished to.” An uncertain silence filled the air, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire. “Go. Do what you must.”

Maera stood, pity softening her face. “Thank you, Nyalee.” The fire witch did not respond.

When they were a safe remove from the ruined temple, Maera turned to the party. “I guess the thing to do now is go back to the pocket plane, and hope it doesn’t spit us back out right in the middle of the siege camp,” she said.

“Are we really gonna take on an army, Mae?” Imoen asked.

“All that matters is getting to Yaga-Shura. He’s the snake’s head.”

* * *

 

The passage through the pocket plane went smoothly, and if not for the sense of urgency pressing at her back like a dull blade, Maera would have taken a moment to be pleased. She doubted she would ever truly get _used_ to the idea of having access to the place, but it was a convenience she was growing increasingly grateful for.

They shifted back to the material plane without difficulty, ready for whatever might be waiting on the other side, knowing that the plane's determination of where they needed to be seemed not to account for the safety of that location. But all was peaceful as they took in their surroundings. They stood on a rocky ledge, a thin line of trees bounding the northeast side. Birds chirped in the wind-ruffled branches, but above them, staining the clear blue sky, rose a column of smoke. Maera felt her heart drop. For an instant, she tried to convince herself she was just imagining things, that it wasn’t the right direction, that it was too far away. But they broke through the trees at the top of the ridge, and her half-heart lies withered to nothing. Below them, Yaga-Shura’s siege camp spread across the flood plain of the river that flowed past the south wall of the city. The army was moving, and Saradush was burning.

She started to run.


	29. City of Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Harden your heart, or the days to come will break it.”_

“Maera!” Jaheira made a grab for her arm, but she dodged. “MAERA! There is an army down there! We cannot proceed without a plan!”

Maera whipped back to face the druid, wrenching Daystar from its sheath. “Anything that gets in my way dies. _That’s_ my plan.”

Jaheira swore and grabbed at her again. This time she connected. “No, by Silvanus, it is not!” She wrenched Maera a half step closer, a storm brewing in her eyes. “If you do not approach this assault with some semblance of thought, you will be killed, and if you are not, I will do it myself on general principle!”

“Jaheira,” Maera said, her voice a low snarl, “let me go.”

The rest of the party edged back, watching the silent war waged in their glaring eyes. A battle of wills between them was like tidal wave versus a cliff face – the ocean would never get tired, and the rock would take a very long time to care. Then Jaheira spoke, and in an instant, the war was over.

“I will not lose you too.”

Maera’s shoulders dropped. “What do I do?” she whispered.

“Think, Maera. Take a moment, and think.”

She sucked in a deep breath, and forced herself to look down the ridge. The army was pressing their offense at the southwestern corner of the city, where the river that formed a natural moat was at its narrowest. “Few of us, and a lot of them.” Greasy black smoke rose in columns from the heart of the city. They were too far to hear any sound other than a generalized roar, but her mind filled in the screams and cries for help. Her fist tightened around Daystar’s hilt. “I want Yaga-Shura,” she growled. “He dies for this.”

“If he is even slightly competent,” Sarevok remarked, “he is likely directing the main assault. We will need to get his attention.”

“Something showy?” Imoen gave Kelsey a nudge.

“We can do that,” he said.

“I don’t really care for sneaking anyway,” Maera said. Minsc smiled broadly in approval.

Jaheira followed Maera’s eyes down the ridge. “Their lines appear thinner on the eastern side. An unexpected assault would sow confusion, possibly even break the disorganized.” Maera nodded.

“Im? How well could you conceal all six of us?”

Imoen scrunched her nose thoughtfully. “Oh, I can make us all vanish, but not for long. The more bodies you add to an invisibility spell, the more variables…shortens its lifespan.”

“Then save it for when we get close enough to need it. I want to be on top of those sons of bitches before you and Kelsey do your thing.” Maera caught Kelsey’s eye. “Feel free to make it flashy.”

“And we take advantage of the chaos.” Sarevok smiled. “Admirable thinking, sister.”

“Don’t congratulate me yet.”

Their passage down the ridge was a combination of skidding and sliding, and as soon as they had reached level ground again, Maera stalked ahead, eyes hard. They closed in on the staked out boundaries of the siege camp, skirting around the oversized supply wagons. The roar had begun to take on individual voices, carried on the smoky wind, and with each step, Maera’s shoulders tightened. They had taken too long, and now the walls were breached. She should have been there to stand between Yaga-Shura and the people of Saradush. She should have been there to fill the gap, to keep the flood of soldiers from pouring over them all. That was her purpose, wasn’t it? To be the one who got in the way? Why hadn’t she been able to this time?

Half a dozen arrows buried themselves in the churned dirt less than a yard ahead of her. “Shit!” she hissed, dancing back a step. Ahead, partially concealed by a large wagon-borne forge, a loose rearguard of human archers was forming into a firing position. They had already been spotted. Invisibility would have to wait for another day. “Kelsey! Im!” she called. “Flashy can start right now!”

She veered hard to the left, Minsc, Jaheira, and Sarevok similarly scattering. The best defense against archers that a melee fighter had was to keep moving, and no one wanted to be in the way of whatever Imoen and Kelsey were about to do.

Imoen cast first, a violet bolt of lightning scorching the earth as it left her hands. Maera refused to believe the color was incidental. She looked back towards Kelsey, who stood with his hands held nearly a foot apart. An incandescent ball of flame glowed between them like a small sun, the fire brushing his fingers without ever burning them. His hands shifted, seeming to grasp the fireball, and he heaved it forward, not at the archers, but at the forge wagon. Maera saw his plan in a split second, and hit the dirt.

The explosion was tremendous. With a whining scream, the suddenly overheated iron of the forge blew apart in all directions. Bits of wood and pot metal sailed back down to the ground, digging craters where they struck. The archers were nowhere to be seen.

Maera hauled herself to her feet, looking back to give Kelsey a quick nod of appreciation before turning her attention back to the situation at hand. It was a good beginning, but they had to keep pressing. Fortunately, it appeared the soldiers were going to make that part easy on her, at least in the short term, because over the tops of the tents ahead, she could see a line of approaching giants. She glanced about, assessing the positions of the rest of her party. Kelsey and Imoen were still behind, and Jaheira had fallen back nearer them, while Minsc stood a few dozen paces to her left. Sarevok waited near the ruins of the forge wagon, his stance gleefully anticipatory. Maera felt a surge of answering satisfaction, and this time, she let it flow through her. _I’ll take them all. Just bring me Yaga-Shura_.

The air around them flickered with the familiar blue light of one of Imoen’s shields – a contingent of crossbowmen followed in support of the giants. The magic could shrug off the bolts, but only for so long. “Minsc!” Maera called, pointing Daystar towards them. He nodded quickly, and circled around, weaving through the tents and firepits towards their position. If he needed help, she trusted Imoen and Kelsey to keep him covered, a supposition supported by the sight of one of Imoen’s white-fletched arrows arcing over her head. She smiled thinly, hefting Daystar, and shouted, “Come on, you ugly sons of whores! I’m quicker, I’m smarter, and I am a damn sight more pissed off than any of you, so let’s see what you’ve got!”

She threw herself towards the oncoming giants, slicing towards the first set of legs unlucky enough to get in her way. _Murderers!_ screamed some inner part of her, and even as she dodged a low swinging strike, she pulled at her rage, reeling it in closer. She couldn’t afford to get lost in it; the Slayer’s shadows might be safely confined to their proper place, but fighting angry wasn’t fighting smart. She couldn’t waste the energy, couldn’t let herself burn up in fury. Not yet.

Kelsey was already a bit winded, and that worried him. His magic was not a bottomless well, while he had no idea what would happen if he pushed himself too far, he had a feeling it wouldn’t be enjoyable. Conservation was his goal, timing what magic he did use for maximum impact, and relying on his sling for the rest. At least the crossbowmen had been easy enough. All it had taken was one casual beheading on Minsc’s part, and they had broken and run. But there were still more coming – they had definitely gotten the attention they wanted, but they would have to work fast to prevent getting bogged down. Maera knew it too; he could see it in her body language as she scanned about, using every unengaged second to take her bearings. She was looking for the best place to punch through.

A pair of giants closed in on her, but beyond them was her break. He raised his hands, aiming carefully. Lightning was a finicky thing, but at the moment, it was his best weapon. Sparks caught on every dry surface in the bolt’s path, crackling over Maera’s head to bounce between the giants. Knocking the nearer to his knees, it struck the second directly in the gut. Electricity and steel armor never did play well together, and Maera wasted no more time on them.

The line wavered around the hole, and they pushed again, deeper into the siege camp. Before them, the smoldering devastation of Saradush spread an oily black pall over the sky, the late afternoon sun was a pale disc behind the smoke. “Yaga-Shura!” Maera shouted. “YAGA-SHURA!” Another barrage of arrows sang over the tents, overshooting and plowing into the dirt a few paces from her feet. She sneered, and raised her voice again. “YAGA-SHURA! Quit hiding behind your arrow fodder, you coward! You came here for Bhaalspawn! Why don’t you try one who can fight back?”

The bluish bubble of another shield formed around them, but the expected wave of arrows did not come. A lull had fallen over the camp, a hush of held breath. Maera stood in the center of the circle, eyes hot, chest moving in short, controlled breaths. Her challenge was made, and whether consciously or not, everyone was waiting to see Yaga-Shura’s response.

The ground shuddered with the fire giant’s approach as he passed the inner ring of tents. The huge Bhaalspawn gazed down at her, his broad, bearded face twisted in a sneer. “So you are the famous Maera,” rumbled the giant.

She stared up at him, eyes dangerously hard. “Let me guess. Expecting someone taller?”

“Only a human would think that’s funny,” he rumbled, then tilted his head contemptuously. “Why are you here? You cannot touch me, and you will die for nothing.”

“Overconfidence has killed bigger men than you.” As if summoned by her words, there was the whiz and thunk of a projectile striking home. The giant roared, and clapped his neck to the back of his neck. He pulled away a bloody hand; a crossbow bolt bristled like a gnome’s dart just below the hairline. Sarevok stepped into sight, the offending weapon held loosely in his hands. Maera’s nostrils flared. “What the hell, Sarevok? I can take him on my own!”

A raised eyebrow, and a calm reply. “But would you want to?”

“What is this?” shouted Yaga-Shura, teeth bared in fury. “How is this possible?”

Maera shot Sarevok one last, venomous look before turning back to Yaga-Shura. “You should have done better by your old mother.”

“The witch sold me out?” he hissed. “What was her price?”

“Nothing,” Maera said coldly. “She loved you like her own and you spat on her. Gods willing, she’s dead now, and you can’t hurt her anymore.”

“We are meant for greater things than the love of mere mortals,” Yaga-Shura said, pressing his hand again to the wound on his neck. “Well, _you_ probably weren’t.” He chuckled dismissively. “Even if you can kill me, what would it avail you now? I have ground Saradush under my heel, and the others still remain. You can join us, or you can be cut down.”

She raised her sword, a fierce glitter in her dark eyes. “I don’t like your options. I’m making my own.” Diving between his legs, she swung for the gap in his armor behind the knee. Yaga-Shura growled, and turned on her with remarkable dexterity. Sarevok fired again, but the second bolt clattered off the giant’s shoulderplate.

Kelsey spotted a human soldier on the fringes, winding his crossbow and taking aim at Maera’s back. _I don’t think so_ , he thought _._ The fireball burst forth from his open hand without a second thought. Beside him, Jaheira caught Minsc’s eye and raised her staff. The ranger nodded, and they broke from the group, disappearing back into the warren of tents and wagons. They could keep stragglers from interfering, which left him and Imoen to watch Maera’s back. Conservation be damned. He raised his hands, his fingers tingling with the charge of electricity. Yaga-Shura convulsed and staggered as the lightning struck, but managed to keep hold of his blade. Imoen and Sarevok took advantage of his momentary confusion to harass him with missiles as Maera kept up her attack.

There was a heavy thud as Yaga-Shura dropped to one knee, and Maera circled in for the kill, bringing her blade to bear against his unbent leg. The giant, his eyes wide in growing panic, struggled to block her, but without the advantage of his greater height, he was not her equal. Daystar sang through the air one last time, and Yaga-Shura toppled, his life’s blood pouring from the gash she left in his throat. “You can bleed,” Maera panted. “You can die.”

She staggered, blinking hard, light headed from exertion. Kelsey stepped forward to catch her…but Sarevok was there, hands on her shoulders, righting her. The irrational urge to hurl a fireball at his blandly expressionless face surged up like a flash flood, but Jaheira, as usual, came to the rescue, emerging from the tents to pull Maera away and ease her to the ground.

“ _I_ will tend to her, thank you,” she said shortly.

“’m okay, Jaheira,” Maera mumbled. “Just tired.”

“Really? Then why aren’t you using your left arm?”

Maera stared at her arm as if she had just noticed it. “Dunno. It hurts.”

“Indeed. It is broken. Kelsey? Would you be so good as to aid me?” He was sure he saw a gleam of understanding in her brown eyes as he knelt beside her, helping unlace Maera’s armor to get at the injured arm.

She gripped Kelsey’s hand hard as Jaheira set the bone, and she drew in a deep breath as the pale light of healing spread over her arm. “Better?” he murmured as he helped her stand. She nodded, and was about to speak when the sound of running feet emanated from the tents ahead.

Imoen drew back her bow, but a familiar voice cried, “Don’t shoot! Please!” Melissan stumbled past the tents, and pitched headlong into the ground before them, out of breath and shivering madly. Minsc gently pulled her up to her feet, but she leaned against him so heavily it did not appear she could stand under her own strength. Her dress was torn and filthy, the hem falling ragged around her calves, splattered with dark stains that could only be blood. Her face was swollen, both from tears and the spreading bruise that covered much of her left cheek. When she sucked in a breath to attempt speech, it appeared she was missing a few teeth. “Thank the gods…it’s you.”

“Melissan?” Imoen shouldered her bow. “What happened?”

“They increased the bombardment last night,” she gasped, after several false starts. “At dawn, they began crossing the river. They’d breached the walls by noon.” A choking sob caught in her throat. “They’re all dead!” she cried. “I tried so hard to protect them, and they’re all dead!”

“Who is?” Maera asked, dreading the answer she already knew.

“The other Bhaalspawn!” Melissan wept hysterically. “I brought them here to save them, and now they’re dead!”

Maera swallowed. “Len and the others?”

“All of them!” Melissan wiped uselessly at her face with her ruined sleeve. “I tried to get them out, but they were looking for us! There was nothing I could do.”

Raising her eyes, Maera forced herself to look at the smoking ruins of Saradush. “What about everyone else?”

Melissan shook her head miserably. “I can’t begin to guess the casualties. Thousands.” A quiet ripple of horror passed through the party. Kelsey swayed slightly, realization striking him like a fist. _Kelvim_.

Maera’s eyes were still fixed on the city, but her gaze was buried somewhere deep within, her face gone slack. “Maera,” Melissan said, her voice catching brokenly, “I have not been entirely honest with you. I know more of the Five than I had…let on.” This earned her a look sharp enough to cut, and she quailed slightly. “I was trying to prevent this! I didn’t want to drag you into anything, or force your hand! I was hoping you would choose of your own volition to move against them, but now we have no choice!”

Maera strode closer to Melissan, staring down the shorter woman. “Really? Because your genius ideas have worked out so well so far!”

“Maera!” Jaheira admonished softly.

“Not apologizing!” Maera hissed stubbornly, still eyeing Melissan. “What do you know?”

“There are two others I know by name,” Melissan replied shakily. “Abazigal and Sendai. They both have…enclaves, I suppose…bases of power, farther to the south. Now that Yaga-Shura is dead, they will surely move, though whether they will band together or strike at each other, I do not know. Either way, they will cause incredible devastation, and we are out of options.”

“Who are the Five, Melissan?”

“I know of three. Yaga-Shura, and I have just told you of the other two. Beyond that, I know as little as you, I swear.” She clutched Maera’s arm, her eyes earnest. “If you go to Amkethran, on the edge of the Calim desert…there is something there who can help you. There is a monastery, under the leadership of a man called Balthazar. I will send him word. He is an ally of mine, he will aid you.” Maera stared at her mutely, and Melissan murmured, “I am sorry, Maera. Truly, I am. But you are the only one who can stop them. The only person who can prevent _this_ from happening again, elsewhere and worse.” She pointed towards Saradush’s broken walls. Maera swallowed, and Melissan patted her arm in faint encouragement. “I should go. There are preparations I must make if I am to help you.”

“You are departing already?” Jaheira asked.

“I must. No more time can be wasted. Not if I am to be of any use to you.” Melissan glanced at Maera again. “Remember: the monastery at Amkethran. Even if I am not there myself, I am sure that Balthazar will help you. Be careful, my friend.” She tried out a small, hopeful smile and disappeared among the tents.

Maera stared sightlessly upward at the greasy smoke smudged across the sky. “Chaos will be sown from their passage,” she whispered. “All those people…” With a sudden scream, she grabbed the nearest tent and ripped the canvas from the poles, tears of fury and anguish stinging her eyes. Sinking to her knees, she buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with sobs. Imoen, her own eyes shining in sympathy, reached out to touch her, but her hand was stilled when Sarevok’s voice rang out, clear and remorseless.

“Stop it.”

Maera looked up, incredulous. “What?”

“What use is caterwauling like a child? You have achieved your goal. Yaga-Shura is dead. His army and his siege are broken. You are the victor. So stop it.”

She stood slowly, her dark eyes hot and still shining with tears, and everyone took an instinctive step back. “What kind of a victory is this?” she asked, pointing across the river, her voice low and shaking. “Innocent people have died!”

“And why should you grieve for them?” he countered. “They cared nothing for you.”

“So? I don’t do this for pats on the back, you know. If all I cared about was getting my ego stroked, I’d be you.” She snorted. “Better looking, though.”

He stepped closer to her, staring down at her angry, tear streaked face, his features clouded. “Do not attempt to deflect me, sister. You know that I am right. You know it is a waste to shed your tears for this worthless city. Harden your heart, or the days to come will break it.”

Her eyes narrowed viciously. “Who the hell do you think you are? How DARE you lecture me! I know what I have to do, and I will not be questioned by you every step of the way.”

“So will you cover your ears and demand to only be told what you want to hear? I was right – you _are_ a child. A whining child who clings to the ideal of ‘the right thing’ because she’s too afraid to face what it truly means to be a Bhaalspawn!”

Her fist was a blur, slamming into his jaw with only a second’s thought. Sarevok staggered back a step from the blow, blood welling on his lip. He stared at her, his swollen mouth twisted as he gritted his teeth and returned the punch. Maera’s head rolled with the blow, and a chorus of angry protest rose from the others, but she spread her hands to her sides warningly, her eyes never leaving his face.

“Don’t. This is between him and me.” Their eyes locked, and she sneered at him. “You arrogant prick. You think you know so much. I have been the godsblighted _Slayer_. I’ve seen what’s at the bottom of who we are. I know what it means to be a Bhaalspawn, and that is nothing good!” Her voice lowered, deadly quiet and sharp as a razor. “So you can stand there and act like the fact that you gave in and danced to Bhaal’s tune somehow makes you braver than me, but honestly, I don’t care anymore. We’re not trapped in Hell’s foyer, or stuck in a besieged city. There is nothing left to keep you hanging around but your pathetic need to lord your supposed enlightenment over me. Well, too bad, because I am done with it and I am done with you. We are finished.”

Their eyes held for a long, perilous moment, and then his lips moved. “No.”

She took a very deep, very controlled breath. “Remember what I said in the pocket plane? That I would kill you again, if I had to? Get the fuck out of my sight, or I will keep my word.”

“I will see this business through to its end and you cannot stop me.”

She outspread her arms, lifting her bruised chin scornfully. “No walls. No chains. Nothing to keep you from turning around and walking in whatever godsdamned direction you please. So what part of ‘We’re finished’ did you not understand?”

“As I told you once before, sister, we will never _be_ finished.” He took another step towards her, and she tightened her fist, but didn’t raise it. He stared down at her, his next words so low only she could hear them. “Why was you who killed me, and you who came to our father’s hell where I was waiting? All our brothers and sisters in this world, and it is always _you._ You can strike me, you can attempt to toss me aside, but deny it all you wish, you know the truth. Our lives are a gyre, Maera. You and I circle each other endlessly, even though death. You cannot be rid of me so easily. Not yet.” He turned on his heel, and vanished through the now-deserted camp, leaving Maera staring after him.

Imoen let out a long breath. “Well, that was tense. Glad to see the back of him, though.”

“He’ll be coming with us,” Maera murmured tonelessly, and before anyone could question her, she was walking towards the river, her eyes a century away.

* * *

 

Hours later, as the sun sank towards the western horizon, staining the sky a brilliant orange through the smoke, Kelsey found her sitting on the riverbank. It had likely been a pleasant spot, before the siege. The remains of boat slips dotted the foreshore; he could imagine picnics in the grassy meadow, young couples boating on the river. Now there were bodies in the brown water, the grass was churned up and stamped down, and the air stunk of charred wood, scorched stone, and death.

“Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know,” she said suddenly.

“I’m not really worried about Sarevok,” he replied. _Okay, that’s a lie._ “I figure you can handle him.” _That’s true, at least_. “But if he hits you again…”

She shrugged. “I swung first. Don’t throw a punch if you can’t take one.” She was still looking across the river, but he wasn’t sure she was actually seeing anything. “All those people,” she murmured. “It’s not right, Kelsey. They shouldn’t have died.” Her eyes lowered, fixed on the dirt at her feet. “Hell of a win, huh?”

Her voice was bleak, and empty, and he hated it. “Maera, don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what? I don’t see anyone else around here to blame for this.”

“What about Yaga-Shura? His soldiers did this, not you. We were racing time and we lost. There wasn’t anything you could have done differently to change that.”

“What good am I if I’m helpless?” she flared. “If I can’t protect people, what’s the point?”

He sighed in frustration. Ninety-eight percent of the time, he admired her stubbornness, but then there was that other two percent… “Just once, I wish you wouldn’t blame yourself for everything you can’t control.”

“Oh, I would love to, Kelsey! Except I’ve got solars, imps, ex-Bhaalites, and Sarevok Anchev himself telling me that I’m responsible whether I want to be or not! And so far, I’m not really impressed with my performance.” She thrust an angry finger in the direction of Saradush. “This isn’t exactly something to be proud of.”

His mouth tightened. It hurt to see her so angry with herself, so lost in self-loathing. He took a deep breath. “Let me tell you a story, Maera. Two years ago, while you were saving the Sword Coast from Sarevok, I was in Cormyr, serving in a mercenary company. And I didn’t find out until too late that I shouldn’t have, because the captain of that troop was a tyrant. He was petty, egomaniacal, power hungry. And cruel. He openly played favorites, he’d have men lashed for the smallest infraction, he’d harass and extort the very caravans we were supposed to be protecting – it was hell serving under him, and he enjoyed every minute of it. A few people tried to desert, and when they were caught, he hung them for it. But the last straw came when one of the caravans he tried to shake down refused. And with one of his toadies holding a knife to my back, he made me fireball the whole caravan – people, animals, wagons.” He swallowed hard, the memory forcing bile into his throat. “And he laughed while it burned. So that night, I returned the favor.” He forced himself to look at her and meet her widening, horrified eyes. “I burned him to death, and I turned and walked away. _That_ is something to not be proud of.”

“My gods, Kelsey,” she whispered. “That’s awful.”

His eyes dropped. “You can see why I hadn’t told you about it.”

“Yeah.” He looked back up, relieved to see sympathy in her expression. “But this isn’t exactly a life that gives you a lot of clean choices.”

He nodded pensively. “I guess not. Just like it’s not a life that cares about your intentions. Or that you’ve run out of time.” He turned his eyes back towards Saradush, and realization struck Maera so hard she gasped aloud.

She pressed her hand to her mouth, cheeks flushing with shame. “Kelsey…I didn’t even think about him…I felt so sorry for myself, I…” She fumbled for the words, tongue-tied in her embarrassment and horror. “I’m sorry.” The phrase felt so trite she wished the ground would open up and swallow her.

But Kelsey was still looking at the city. “After all these years, I finally see him again and discover my little brother actually grew up into a pretty decent man. And I thought that maybe…” Maera caught his fingers in hers, and he turned to face her. Her heart ached to see tears in his eyes, which he hastily wiped away. “You’re doing it again,” he said with as much sternness as he could muster.

“Doing what?”

“You can’t think of everything, Maera. You can’t do everything, you can’t be everywhere.” He touched her face. “And you’re only going to hurt yourself trying so hard.”

“I can do something about this.” Kelsey looked unsure and she said, “We could stay. Stay here and look for him and Mirena.”

He shook his head. “You need to get to Amkethran. You’re obviously on some kind of timetable here, and I can’t ask you to put your mission on hold for me.”

“Screw that! This is important! He’s your brother! What kind of person would I be if I didn’t give you the chance to know for certain if he’s okay? You shouldn’t have to make that kind of sacrifice for me, Kelsey; it wouldn’t be fair.” His brow wrinkled uncertainly, and she let out a frustrated sigh. “You just got done lecturing me about taking on things I can’t control. Well, this is something I can, isn’t it?”

He pursed his mouth thoughtfully. “It is, I guess. But-” Her arms crossed firmly. Stalemate. “What if I stayed?”

“By yourself?” She couldn’t keep the doubt out of her tone.

“I _can_ take care of myself. I’ve done it before,” he said, smiling slightly, and she made a face at him. The air between them seemed to warm. “I could…stay here a few days, and look. Then I’d follow you to Amkethran. I’ve never been there before, but I know where it is.”

She didn’t like it. Her first instinct was to tell him it was a terrible idea and that she categorically refused to go without him. After all, he had followed her across Amn to save her sister. She could spare a few days for his brother. But if he was right, and the planes really did have her on a schedule, maybe they would see fit to let him find what he sought, and bring him back to her safe. It was the best she could hope for, and she needed every bit of hope she could find. She nodded, leaned against him and closed her eyes. She’d been so tired lately.

Twilight gathered, but Saradush would burn through the night. Small fires began to dot the hills, the hopeful sign of refuges yet alive. Perhaps all was not lost after all. Maybe they all still had a chance. When Maera spoke, her voice felt very small against the hugeness of the night. “I’ll miss you.”


	30. Fate and Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Watch now. And learn.”_

  
The next morning, they broke their camp and prepared to depart, all but Kelsey, and Maera found that the strangest things, like having to separate her bedroll from his, made her throat tighten curiously. She had lived twenty-two years of her life without him, she chastised herself; she could survive a brief separation. A few days? A week? That was nothing. There was no need to be such a _girl_ about it. But then she saw him straightening his belt pouches, and the lump returned.

As they made ready to leave, Imoen popped onto her toes, and to Kelsey’s astonishment, kissed his cheek. Jaheira solemnly clasped his forearm, and Minsc treated him to a bruising back clap. He faced Maera, rubbing his stinging shoulder, and his eyes went soft. Her quivering chin had betrayed her, damn it. “Be careful,” she managed.

“You too.” He took her hands in his. “But just in case…” He reached into an inner pocket of his robe, withdrawing a folded parchment. She opened it, her brow drawn in confusion. It was the deed to the house in Berdusk.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“Not that anything will happen to me, but…I’ll feel better knowing you have that.” He forestalled her protest with a raised hand. “Please, Maera. Humor me, okay? You can give it right back when I get to Amkethran.” She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. “Hey,” he whispered, catching her chin in his hand, “there is nowhere I wouldn’t go to see you again. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me; why would I stay gone any longer than I have to?”

She smiled in spite of herself. “Flatterer.”

“Who, me?” He looked pleased with himself. “I’ll see you soon. I promise.”

“I hope you find them.”

His smile grew strained. “Me too.”

It was difficult not to let their parting kiss linger, but the sun was climbing and their audience was restless. They shouldered their packs and walked away, and Maera only looked back once, to see Kelsey threading his way through the abandoned siege camp, north towards the only bridge left standing. _Please let him find them_ , she prayed. _Don’t let this be in vain._

They walked in silence, following the empty trade road south, skirting the wooded mountains. Imoen fell into step beside Maera, and reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “He’ll be okay,” she said encouragingly.

“I know.”

“If you ask me, we have relieved ourselves of dead weight,” Sarevok opined from the rear of the group. Maera inhaled sharply between gritted teeth, but Minsc, of all people, beat her to a reply.

“Boo says that you were not asked,” the ranger snapped. The hamster gave a decisive squeak.

“Hey Sarevok, here’s something to keep you occupied,” Imoen said over her shoulder. “How about not being an enormous jerk today? See how that works out for you.” She glanced at her sister, lowering her voice. “Mae. Seriously…why?”

Maera shook her head, resigned. “I can’t explain it, Im. I honestly can’t. Oghma knows I wish I could, but... I’m sorry. I know it’s…not pleasant, having him along.”

“‘Not pleasant’? When did you get crowned Queen Understatement? Look, I don’t deny that he’s a good fighter, but he’s hurting your focus, and that’s always been your edge. Whatever is going on here, figure it out so it doesn’t accidentally get you killed.”

They had known each other more than half their lives, and yet every time Imoen let the sunny mask slip to reveal the sharp mind behind, she was surprised. Maera dipped her head in acquiescence. “You’re right, Im. I will.”

Imoen smiled, cheery and arch once more. “You’d better. Because I’d hate to have to explain to Kelsey why I set you on fire. He might frown at me. Or do that thing with his eyebrows.”

Maera chuckled, backhanding her sister’s shoulder affectionately. And between one step and the next, everything went dark.

* * *

 

She blinked hard, disoriented and out of sorts, and as her wits returned, she realized she was in the pocket plane, alone. The only light was that which radiated from the solar, who stood before her, hands clasped demurely. “Where is everyone?” Maera asked.

“Your companions remain in the mortal realm.”

“Aren’t they going to be a little worried that I just vanished?”

“No.” The familiar, peaceful smile spread over the solar’s lovely face. “We are not within time now. All that you see and experience here will, for them, seem to occur between the space of two breaths. Worry not, godchild.”

“So why am I here?”

“It is time,” the solar said softly, “to learn of your origins.”

A chill spread in Maera’s stomach, and she swallowed. “Why is that?”

“All things have their beginning, godchild, and the place in which a journey began is often just as important as its destination. Observe.”

The room changed; it was suddenly lighter, and Maera realized they were in a temple’s sanctum. There were no hangings on the walls, no relics or symbols to be seen. The windows were boarded shut, and a barricade of chairs and benches had been forced before the door. The room was crowded with bedraggled, frightened people, more than half of them children, and Maera was sure not one of the youngsters was more than five years old. One of them, a small, dark-haired boy, no more than three or four, caught her eye – he was huddled against the wall, in the shadow of an upended bench. A woman in a black robe trimmed with crimson stood before the bare altar, where a squalling infant kicked fretfully. No one seemed to notice them.

“They cannot see us, godchild. We are simply standing in a memory.”

“What is this?” Maera whispered.

“The Time of Troubles draws to its end. The gods will soon be returned to their divinity. But these lost souls have no consolation, for their god is dead, having left only the promise of his return.”

“They’re Bhaalites.” Maera stared at the thin, hopeless faces. “Then the children are…”

“The Lord of Murder foresaw his fate many long years before it occurred, and he planted these children among the races of the Realms. Here were gathered nearly all of the human children. You were the lastborn of them.”

Maera stared at the infant on the altar, as the woman in black slowly drew a curved knife. “That’s me?”

The solar nodded. “Watch now. And learn.”

There were shouts outside the blocked door, and the Bhaalites murmured fearfully among themselves. The murmurs grew to shrieks of alarm at the sound of battering; someone was trying to get in by force. The woman at the altar spun about. “Harpers!” she hissed. The pounding grew louder, joined by the crack of an ax against the wood. The Bhaalites clutched the terrified children, backing towards the altar. The door groaned, and the woman cried, “Do not let them take the children!”

Whatever reaction Maera had expected from those words, it was not the one she saw. Daggers were drawn; hands descended on small faces, the contents of upturned vials were forced down tiny throats. Maera gasped in abject horror, too stunned and sickened for words. The first of the Harpers pushed through the flimsy blockade and voiced the revulsion she felt. “NO!”

She knew that voice. His hair and beard were shorter, and there was less gray than she remembered, but there was no mistaking Gorion. The Bhaalites turned on the Harpers, leaving the dead and dying children on the floor, but they were poorly armed, and the Harpers were enraged. The fight was vicious and extremely short, and soon they were dragging bodies out of the room. But the woman in black, and the baby, had vanished.

Only Gorion seemed to notice their absence. His eyes darted about the room, seeking the point of her escape. The little boy Maera had noted earlier lay on the floor near him. Slowly, he opened his eyes; Maera realized he had been playing possum. He reached for the hem of Gorion’s robe, but the man had eyes only for those who had disappeared, and did not see him as he stepped forward. He had spotted the indented panel behind the altar, and pressed it. Maera and the Solar followed his wary progress down a sloping tunnel, which ended in a tiny underground room, barren but for a small secondary altar. The woman had placed the baby on it, intent on finishing what she had begun, but Gorion’s approach was not soundless, and she straightened, and turned to face him.

“Alianna,” he said softly. “I knew it was you.”

She laughed, a shattered, clattering sound that hurt Maera’s ears. “Gorion. Still trying to fix people, I see. How long has it been?” she asked conversationally, ignoring the sobbing baby. “Fifteen years? Twenty?”

“Twenty or so, I’d say,” he said, edging towards her. “Put down the knife, Alianna. Let that little one live, at least.”

Alianna sniffed mockingly. “The Lord of Murder gave her to me. I bore her. She is mine to do with as I will, and she was born for HIS return!”

“She is your child? You bore one of the Children?”

Maera gaped. _This_ was her mother? All the childhood hours spent wondering, and this was the truth. She stared at Alianna, wrapped in her dark robe and clutching her wicked knife. She was tall, and blonde as well, and there was something familiar in the shape of her jaw and brow. But Alianna’s was not a face formed for laughter. She glared at Gorion with burning contempt, her mouth twisted with bitterness. She was a woman carved of black marble, cold and untouchable, and Maera realized with a start that looking at her reminded her uncannily of her Slayer self.

 _He always said she was his friend,_ said a small, hurt voice. _How could he lie to me like that?_ The answer came in a reasoned tone that sounded rather like Jaheira. _Look at her. How could he be honest?_

Alianna rolled her eyes. “I see you have not outgrown asking obvious questions.”

“Killing her will avail you nothing, Alianna,” Gorion said. “Bhaal cannot return in this way. There is no need to kill your own child!”

“What do you know of Bhaal’s promises? And what have you ever known of me?” she cried, her eyes wet. She wiped them with the back of her hand and scowled at him. “Look at this. Twenty years and you still try to save me from myself. I didn’t need it then and I do not need it now! No wonder you became a Harper. You can’t leave well enough alone!”

He extended his hand. “Give me the knife, Alianna."

She shook her head slowly. “She has to die. That’s why she was born.” Alianna turned back towards the altar, raising the knife…and suddenly stiffened, a small, surprised gasp her only sound as Gorion withdrew the dagger he had plunged into her back.

He gently eased her down onto the floor, straightening her limbs and closing her eyes. “You’re right. I did always try to save you. And I always failed, didn’t I?” He stood, approaching the infant, who had cried herself almost to exhaustion on the cold altar. “I suppose you will have to be my victory, little one,” he said softly, carefully taking the child into his arms and wrapping the sleeve of his robe over her. He turned, climbing the tunnel back into the sanctum.

The little boy was nowhere to be seen.

The room faded, the baby vanished from his arms, and his appearance began to shift to the man she had known at the end of his life – hair grayer and longer, his elaborately embroidered arcane robe becoming the simple garb of a scholar. Maera glanced at the solar, uneasy, and was given a gentle, knowing smile. “The wraith wounded you, I know, but you are meant no harm here. This is Gorion, and he is here to answer your questions, as am I.”

Maera looked at him in silence. She finally had the chance to speak to him again, and she couldn’t think of anything to say. Her mouth worked uselessly for a moment, and at least, words emerged. “My mother was a Bhaalite?”

“Yes,” Gorion said. “Though I did not know that until I saw her there. I had certainly never expected to see her again.”

“Doesn’t exactly match up with the story you told me.”

He spread his hands in admission. “Can you permit me one final bit of obfuscation? I had hoped you need never learn the truth.” His eyes cut towards the solar in wry defeat. “It was seem I was wrong.”

“So what was the truth? You always told me she was a friend. Obviously you knew her, but that-”

“I did call her friend once, so what I told you was a sort of truth.” He took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. “Alianna and I were students under the same master for a time in my younger days. She was some years my junior, but in intellect, she was by far my superior. She was brilliant, Maera, utterly, unfairly brilliant. To say she had a remarkable mind would do her a disservice. I was…intrigued and intimidated by her all at once, and while I would like to characterize our brief youthful indiscretion as torrid, in truth, she was right. I was just trying to save her from herself.

“For the truly exceptional mind, the world can be a deeply frustrating place. All its problems and vexations…the solutions seem so easy to someone like Alianna, but no one else can see it. To her, the world was drowning in willful stupidity. And it made her so angry. As I came to know her, I could see it in her, and convinced myself with youthful bravado that all she needed was a reason not to be.” He shrugged. “But instead we drifted apart, and I never saw her again until the night I found you.” His eyes met Maera’s. “When you were small, part of me feared I had volunteered to raise you out of some desire to make it up to myself. But you are so much your own woman; I saw so little of her in you, and I must say, I was relieved. You have her iron will, yes, but none of her rage.”

Maera chewed on her lip, trying to process the new information, even though she knew it would ultimately be futile. There was too much; it would wash over her and away, gone too soon for any of it to truly sink in. And by the time it did, the one person who could make any sense of it would be gone again. She looked at Gorion. “I guess I have you to thank for that.”

“I would not feel comfortable making that claim, child.” He smiled slightly. “Better to say, I think, that I was very lucky.”

She knew that smile. It was more an upward rearrangement of beard; all the expression was in his eyes. It was the most familiar expression in the world. Her vision blurred, and she realized she was crying. “I miss you so much.” She tried to stifle the sobs against her hand, but it was no use. “Gods, Gorion, I don’t know what I’m doing! I feel like such a fraud! Everyone looks to me like I should have some special, secret knowledge of what to do, but most of the time it’s all I can do to keep one foot in front of the other anymore. What if I let them down? What if more people get hurt because of me?” She heaved a few deep breaths, and laughed weakly. “And the worst part is, I think I’m most scared of somebody noticing how scared I am.”

“May I impart a bit of wisdom, Maera?” She nodded desperately. “You have just described the most common fear in all the world. No matter your age or experience, you will always feel that way. That was the exact state in which I spent the entirety of your youth. It is the nature of life itself that we fly blind, and yet we always fear we will be caught at it.”

She chuckled tearily. “I don’t know how comforting that is, but thank you anyway.”

“You are welcome.” Sadness melted into his smile. “Tell me…how do you keep?”

She sniffled, wiping her eyes. “Apart from the obvious?” She couldn’t help herself.

“Yes, apart from that.” The amused reproof in his voice at once made her smile and sharpened her heartache.

“I’m…I’m okay, actually. I think. I’ve been really lucky to have met some of the people I have since you-”

She cut off, unable to finish the sentence, and he nodded. “Good companions on the road are often the only thing that makes it bearable.”

“Yeah.” She shrugged with forced levity. “And I’ve still got Im.”

One gray eyebrow arched. “Is that meant to reassure me?”

“Hey!” She made a face at him, and they laughed. Suddenly, it was a summer day in Candlekeep again, and they were sitting in the garden, eating cherries and spitting the pits into the flowerbeds, much to Ulraunt’s disgust. And the reality of his death struck her anew, the old wound aching fresh. It had never gone away. She had just gotten used to it. “I…I hope you’re not disappointed in me.”

He shook his head. “Never.” He extended a hand to brush her cheek. She started at the contact – she had not thought he would be able to touch her. “Know this, Maera, and remember it: I am so very proud of you. Of the woman you’ve become. And I am grateful beyond measure to have known you.” Her eyes filled again; no words could force their way past her tightened throat. She pressed his hand to her cheek desperately, trying to set the image of him in her mind. Then the solar spoke.

“Our time here is nearly ended, my dears,” she said gently. “And yet, there is one question you have not asked, godchild.”

Maera tore her gaze from her foster father and looked up at the solar, composing herself. “The little boy? I don’t have to ask. I know who he is.”

The solar nodded. “Then make your farewells, my children. It is time.”

Maera looked back at Gorion. She had never called him Father; she’d never needed to. He was, and would always be, far more than just a title. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too, my girl. Good-bye.”

Her foot slipped as she faltered mid-step, back at the head of her group, back in the dust and wind of the mortal world. Imoen shot her a concerned glance. “You alright, Mae?”

“Yeah, just…got lost in my own head. Look, Im, what we were talking about before… I think I understand now.”

 


	31. Ill Fame Follows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"It would seem your reputation proceeds you, sister."_

Nudge, nudge. Maera flailed momentarily at the hands on her shoulders before some semblance of waking pushed through the fog of sleep. She peered hard at the face above her. “Im? Didn’t Minsc have the watch before me? Is something wrong?”

“No,” came the quiet reply. “I, uh…I let him sleep. And you. It’s nearly dawn.”

“What?” Maera sat up, rubbing her eyes. “You kept three watches? Why?”

Imoen’s gaze was furtive. “I…didn’t wanna sleep.”

Ah-ha. The truth was out. “Bad dreams?” Imoen nodded. Maera sighed and took her sister’s hand; Imoen winced, and in the gray light, Maera could barely make out a line of deep, crescent moon cuts across the palm. “Oghma’s books, Im.” She laid her fingers over the wounds and felt a faint tingle of energy. A silvery glow lit the tent for a moment, and when she pulled away her hand, the skin beneath was smooth and unmarked.

“I wonder why you can do that, and I can’t,” Imoen said softly.

“It seems like we can all do different things. But we haven’t had a lot of chances to sit down and have a heart-to-heart with anyone about it.” She sighed, the lost opportunities of Saradush hanging over her like a pall. “And it seems like we’re running out of people to ask.”

“It seems silly to feel left out in the evil god powers contest, and yet I do,” Imoen said, chuckling without humor. “All the bad dreams, none of the benefits.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Maera answered. She reached for her jerkin. “What about your magic?”

“What about it?”

“Two years ago, Dynaheir was teaching you cantrips. Now you’re casting spells she never could have attempted, even by the time she died. How else do you explain going from novice to master in that kind of timeframe?”

“Well, I’d picked up a few things from the Readers before she…” Imoen blinked. “You know, I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“Honestly, I think you got the better deal there,” Maera added as she pulled on her boots. “You’re practically an archmage. Me? I can heal shaving cuts.”

“Now you’re just selling yourself short, Mae. You’re meant for something big, and from what you told me about your little interlude with the Solar yesterday, I think you’ve been meant for it since the moment you were born.”

“How different would it have been,” Maera mused, “if Gorion had seen Sarevok there? If he hadn’t taken me?”

“He did because he was supposed to,” Imoen said firmly. “He took you, because despite all Bhaal’s planning, you were _destined_ to be the person you are, here and now. Just like he found me later, because I’m supposed to have your back.”

Maera laughed weakly, shaken more than she cared to show. “Deep thoughts, Im.”

“It was a long night.” Imoen crawled through the tent flap, turned, and held out her hand. “C’mon. We should get breakfast started.”

Maera tried to keep her lips from curling. “I guess.”

“Mae, you have barely eaten for the last three days. You keep this up and Jaheira’s gonna have Minsc hold you down while she force feeds you. And nobody wants that.”

“I know.”

“Is it because you miss Kels? Because honestly, pining does not suit you.”

“It’s not Kelsey!” Maera glared at her sister, then dropped her eyes, feeling strangely embarrassed. “It’s the smell. It’s been putting me off. I think it reminds me of Saradush.”

Imoen pursed her lips. She'd been fighting a losing battle against her sister's overdeveloped sense of responsibility since they were children, but that never made it any easier to watch. “Okay. I won’t make you eat, but you should try.”

* * *

 

The landscape changed as they moved south and west on the trade road that followed the curve of the Marching Mountains. Scrubby thorn trees fought the dry, yellowed grass for every drop of water they could pull from land and sky, and a haze of dust clung to the horizon. Farther north, autumn was coming, but here, it was just the dry season. Every map marked a sinkhole oasis midway to Amkethran as a valuable stop, and it happened to fall neatly into their day’s journey at mid-afternoon, the perfect time for a stop.

There were other travelers gathered there, under the shade of the only green trees for miles around. To the north, the road branched and formed a major artery into Amn; commerce from Calimshan and other regions of Tethyr flowed through this dusty land. Maera was sure Kelsey could have provided her with an exhaustive discourse on the subject, and she was surprised to discover she was sorry he couldn’t. But she found her musings on international trade and the benefits and drawbacks of being romantically involved with a merchant cut short as she realized the hushed hum of conversation seemed to be revolving around her.

A well-armed group of veteran adventurers was always eye-catching, but as Maera surveyed the faces around them, they all seemed to be running through the same checklist Melissan had outlined in the Saradush plaza: _Tall, blonde hair, sword with a golden hilt._ No one wanted to look her in the eye, and the small knots of people all turned inward as they passed, heads ducked warily.

“It would seem your reputation proceeds you, sister,” Sarevok murmured. He seemed pleased at the discomfort in the air. She shot him an ugly look.

“We’re not looking for trouble,” Maera replied. “We’ll just take a few minutes to rest and be on our way.”

She had spoken too soon. _Typical_ , she thought, as a tall man wearing finely made armor emblazoned with the royal crest of Tethyr pushed his way through the crowd to face her, flanked on either side by mages whose robes bore the same symbol. It was impossible to guess his age with any degree of success – time and the elements had weathered him like driftwood, and he carried himself with the easy confidence of experience and command.

“I am Jamis Tombelthen,” he said, bringing his heels together and inclining his head as if introducing himself at court, “Knight of the Royal Guard of Tethyr. And you are Maera of Candlekeep. Bhaalspawn.”

“Gotta admit, your title is a lot more impressive than mine, Sir Knight,” Maera said, fighting down a shudder of nerves. “What can I do for you?”

“You can come with me. Quietly. There is no need to involve anyone but ourselves in this matter.” He cast a significant glance about at the travelers around them, who were, to a one, staring at the sudden theatre before them.

“What are you talking about? We’re just passing through.”

“I’m afraid I cannot allow you to do that. You have done grievous harm to the people of Tethyr, and it is my duty to see that justice is done for that.” Taking her shocked silence for defiance, he added, “I have a score of men here. Even you and your famed band cannot defeat us all.”

Maera found her voice. “Harm? Who have I harmed? And how?”

The knight lifted one graying eyebrow. “Have you forgotten Saradush already?”

“Now wait a minute!” Imoen cried hotly. There was a creak of drawn bows behind them as she stepped forward; Tombelthen raised a hand. Imoen subsided, but her eyes were still bright with indignation. “Yaga-Shura was the one besieging that city. It was his army that killed all those people. And Maera killed him! So I’d say she did you a favor.”

“It was the Bhaalspawn sheltering in Saradush that he wanted, and he crushed a city of thousands to get them. This violence between the Children of Bhaal will not stand, not here.”

“So you would make her a scapegoat. You would punish her for what others have done.” Jaheira’s voice was stiff. “I had been led to believe Tethyr had seen marked improvement under the regime of the new Queen. I see my sources were mistaken.”

Tombelthen sighed and closed his eyes briefly. “There is no need for raised voices. All I ask is that you come with us quietly. This is not the proper setting for such scenes.”

Minsc leaned forward and waggled a thick finger in the knight’s face, obviously unable to stand it any longer. “Maera has kicked the butt of evil more times than even Boo can count!” Maera put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Sir Jamis,” she said quietly, “I did not want Saradush to fall. I…I wasn’t able to react quickly enough, and the dead there are on my conscience, believe me.” The Slayer had snickered over them in her dreams, and the image of shadowy claws stretching over the slaughter still lingered behind her eyes. “But I can prevent more innocent blood from being shed, and if I go with you, I won’t be able to.”

“No good has come from the actions of the Bhaalspawn in Tethyr,” Tomelthen said, steel in his voice. “It is my duty to protect this land, and its people, and I will do that, from you and any of your brethren!”

A harsh reply prepared to take flight, but good sense caught it on its way out Maera’s mouth. She took a sharp, steadying breath. “Sir Jamis, your duty and mine are the more alike than you think. I respect your desire to fulfill yours, but I can’t let you stand in the way of mine.” The mages on either side of the knight took a half step forward, but Tomelthen quelled them with a gesture.

“Am I to believe you are so different from your fellows, then? How would you propose to prove that?”

“I can’t.” Maera looked him in the eye, daring him to look away. He had an honest face, careworn but proud. “All I have is my word. And I swear to you that I will stop them, and no one else will have to suffer. If you are willing to damn me on the evidence of what others have done, maybe you’ll be willing to accept something as flimsy as that for my defense.”

He didn’t flinch from her gaze, and she knew he was reading her face as closely as she had his. “What would you have me do, then?” he asked softly.

“Let me go. Let me finish this."

“And you honestly believe that you can?”

“I have to. I don't have any other choice.”

“If I do this, it will not simply be the lives of the innocent you carry, but my honor as well.”

 _Add it to the pile_ , she thought. “All the more reason not to fail.”

His nod was so faint and quick as to almost be imperceptible. “Refresh your water supply and go. And do not be seem within Tethyr again while this matter remains unresolved.”

“Sir!” protested one of the mages. He was quickly silenced by a hard stare.

“I don’t forget when people do me favors, Sir Jamis, and I won’t forget this,” Maera said softly. “Thank you.”

They did not linger long.

* * *

 

It was awkward, seeking Sarevok out after they made camp that evening. But after her experience with Gorion and the Solar, Maera couldn’t help but feel obligated to share what she had seen.

“I do hope you have the sense to be ashamed after that display this afternoon,” he commented coolly as she approached.

“Why would I?” she asked.

“You all but begged the man to let us pass. We could have easily dealt with his lot, no matter how confident he seemed to be.”

“I was not about to risk a fight in that environment, surrounded by non-combatants, and certainly not with a good man over a misunderstanding!”

Sarevok shrugged expressively. “Groveling is beneath you.”

“You are unbelievable,” she snapped, throwing up her hands. “Do you oppose every single thing I do out of principle, or just for the hell of it?”

“You must admit our clashes are…invigorating.”

“Try comically frustrating and you’re closer,” she grumbled. “Look, Sarevok, I...we need to talk.” He raised an eyebrow, and she forced herself to continue. “The Solar showed me a vision yesterday, of the past. Our past. And…much as it galls me to say it, you were right. Our lives are connected, and they have been since the beginning. And maybe…the reason you’re here now is because…” She chewed her lip, searching for the right words. “Because it wasn’t supposed to end with one of us killing the other.”

He watched her in silence, his eyes unreadable. Heat crawled up the back of her neck to her face and she was grateful for the evening dark. “Perhaps so.” Feeling there was nothing more to say, she turned to go, and he said, “Tell me. How greatly _does_ it pain you admit that I am right?”

She faced him again with a near audible grind of her teeth. “Why do you do this? Is there a purpose to it or is it just what gets you through the day?"

“Because I do not understand,” he muttered, his face surprisingly troubled.

“Understand what?”

“You!” he spat, actual frustration resounding in his voice. “I do not understand you!”

The force of his reaction caught her off balance. “What’s not to understand?”

He set his jaw, staring down at her. “Those others of the Five might contest it, but _you_ are the strongest of the Children of Bhaal, the most powerful, the most deadly. Nations should tremble at your feet while you carve out an empire. Kings should be handing you their crowns, bowing in supplication before the most powerful mortal in Faerun. You could be like a _goddess_ , dispensing life and death at your whim. And yet, you squander it. Left to your own devices, you’d be happily killing kobolds for farmers with the druid, the idiot, and the sneak thief. To say nothing of that jackass sorcerer constantly drooling after you. Take a lover if you wish, sister, but could you not choose one with a little dignity?”

Maera crossed her arms, eyes flinty. “Let's get a few things straight. One: I happen to like Kelsey the way he is. Two: You do not get to talk about my friends like that. Ever. Do you have the slightest idea what those people have been through for me? What they have sacrificed for my sake? What I owe them? Can you even grasp what loyalty like that is worth? Considering your track record, I'm going to guess no.

“And three… Those farmers you have so much disdain for? Them, and the people like them – the smiths, and the wrights, and the shopkeepers, and the boring, everyday things they do, generation after generation – they’re the reason this world keeps going. Nothing matters without them. They are the lifeblood of the world, and I'm just an adventurer. Why should I want to set myself up as some kind of god-emperor? What would be the point? And what gives me the right?”

“Your power gives you every right.”

“Forget it, Sarevok. I’m not living out your ambitions for you.”

“And what if my ambitions are no longer for myself? Is it truly ambitious to desire to see another take the place they are meant to hold? Or just realistic?” He stepped towards her, and his eyes were almost soft, which was somehow more unnerving than any amount of anger. “Our rivalry was only the beginning. I could not defeat you, and so it stands to reason that the throne I desired for myself was in fact meant for you. I wish to help you claim your birth right.”

The conversation had taken such a bewildering turn she was struggling to keep her face neutral. “Our father may have been a god, but he was an idiot, and I don’t want anything he has to offer. I never have. If you really want to help me, respect that.” She turned again, and hoped it was not obvious that she was shaking. “And if you ever call Kelsey a jackass again, I will stuff your head up your ass and give you a tour of your own intestines.”

* * *

 

The town of Amkethran clung to the rocky hills that formed the tail of the Marching Mountains, hovering on the very edge of the Calim desert. The buildings were built into the hillsides, their flat roofs giving them a stepped appearance. Maera had wondered how they would know Balthazar’s monastery, but as they drew nearer, it became apparent that was not going to be a concern. The rambling bulk of it dwarfed every other building in the town.

The dusty streets were quiet, the people lean and gaunt eyed. They watched the adventurers pass, their faces betraying nothing. In contrast, a swaggering cluster of armored men cut a path down the thoroughfare, bellowing the over-hearty laughter of those who don’t care if anyone else gets the joke. Maera’s hackles rose. Mercenaries.

One of them spotted the party, nudging his friends, sizing them up with a smirk. The air grew heavy with potential violence when a voice called out, “You are Maera, yes?”

The speaker was a young man with the shaven head and neat robes Maera recognized as belonging to certain orders of martial brotherhoods. So Balthazar was that sort of monk. When she nodded, the young monk said, “Follow me please. Balthazar will see you.” As they passed the mercenaries, Maera took the time to give them a cold glare.

Their guide led them the tall, arched gates of the monastery proper, which were in the slow process of swinging open as they approached. A small coterie of monks passed through the gate, but Balthazar was instantly recognizable. He was not taller or more muscular than any of the others; in fact, he was almost slight. Nor was he dressed any differently, with any sort of ornament to acknowledge his rank. There was simply a presence about him, an aura of quiet control. His eyes were still, his face utterly expressionless. A shiver of anxiety ran down Maera’s spine. She couldn’t read him at all.

“Melissan is not here,” he said without preamble, his voice as every bit as calm as his demeanor. “She arrived and departed on the same day, and I could not say where she has gone and when she will return. She has, however, communicated her wishes to me. I am in possession of the locations of these two…enclaves you seek.” He gestured, and a monk behind him scurried forward, presenting Maera with a folded parchment map. “You may feel free to use the resources of this town, such as they are, as you like. But you will not be granted access to the monastery grounds, nor will you interfere in any of my dealings. Is that understood?”

Maera nodded slowly. “It’s your town,” she said, trying to sound more nonchalant than she actually felt.

“That it is.” With that, he turned, his brothers and sisters closing rank behind him. Maera tried not to hear something ominous in the closing clang of the gate.


	32. Eldest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Does it not seem right that Bhaal’s firstborn should ascend, rather than the runt of the litter?"_

A lone traveler, dusty and footsore, approached Amkethran in the fading light of a desert evening. A few coins in the hand a thin young goatherd bought him directions to the tired stucco building that served as the town’s only inn. When he pushed through the dust curtains into the dim, threadbare common room, the trio of mercenaries playing cards in the corner paid him little mind, but he was a welcome sight to the slender little mage nursing a beer at the bar. She stood, smiling, as he pushed back his hood. “Heya, Kels,” Imoen said, giving him a quick hug. He returned the embrace, but before he could ask the question burning his lips, she offered, “She’s fine. Getting her nose set, at the moment.”

“She…wait, what?”

“You know it’s best to set bones before they’re healed. Jaheira’s real big on doing things the right way.”

“Yeah, I know that, but how’d she get her nose broken?”

“Oh, she and the locals have been getting along _famously_.” Irony dripped from Imoen’s voice. “Come on.” She led him into the door-lined back hall, and knocked on one.

“What?” Jaheira’s tone indicated there had better be a good excuse.

Imoen smirked. “He’s here,” she announced.

A brief argument, a curse, and frantic scrambling all emanated from the room, and Maera jerked the door open, bruises still fading around her nose. It was, Imoen thought, both incredibly adorable and completely disgusting the way they beamed at each other like idiots. Maera grabbed his face and planted a huge kiss on him, but flinched away, holding her still tender nose.

“No more of that for at least half an hour,” Jaheira declared firmly, squeezing past Maera into the hall. “The bones are not finished healing yet.”

“Yes ma’am,” Maera grumbled. She pulled Kelsey into the room with her, shutting the door firmly in Jaheira and Imoen’s faces.

“Think they’ll last that long?” Imoen asked.

“It will not be my fault if her nose heals crooked now.”

Behind the closed door, Kelsey sat heavily on the bed, pulling off his boots with a sigh of relief. Maera sat beside him, and he tapped the tip of her nose affectionately. “So what did you do?” he asked.

“What did _I_ do? What makes you think I started it?” He raised his eyebrows and said nothing. She sighed in defeat. “Okay, I did start it. But I was defending an old man! And you should see the other guy.” He laughed, and she added, eyes wide with sincerity, “No, really. I put him through a wall.”

“The walls here?” She nodded. “The _stucco_ walls?”

She glanced down furtively. “I won’t rule out the possibility of overkill.” He shook his head, smiling, and she added seriously, “There’s something weird going on in this town. Melissan’s ‘friend’ Balthazar?” She hooked air quotes around the word. “I don’t think he’s anybody’s friend. Something about him is just…off. And I haven’t heard much good about him from anybody. Much recent good, anyway. Apparently the town and the monastery have always had a really good relationship – looking out for each other’s interests and all - and when he became head of the order last year, it didn’t seem like anything had changed. Then all of the sudden this past spring, the gates are always closed, he’s using the town’s treasury to hire mercs and won’t say what they’re for – and this is a martial order, mind you.”

“The mercenaries could be for protection from the Five,” Kelsey suggested.

“That was my first thought too, but…they don’t act like they’re here to protect anybody.” She sniffed disdainfully. “Mercs being mercs though, they’re probably more worried about what they’re gonna spend their coin on when the job’s done.” She shot him an apologetic look. “No offense. I know you’ve hired out a few times.”

“And there’s a reason why I stopped,” he chuckled lightly.

“True. But here’s the thing I thought you’d find most interesting: Balthazar’s actively discouraging caravans. There hasn’t been one stop here in over four months.”

Kelsey’s eyes widened. “This is a supply town. These people make their living off the caravans.”

“Exactly. And no one seems to know what to make of it. At least…that’s what they’re telling me. Everyone’s been very polite and very, very distant. And I don’t think it’s just the Bhaalspawn thing. Seems like they’re more afraid of him than they are of me.” She sighed. “Not that I mind that particularly. It makes a nice change of pace.”

“I heard about your run-in with Jamis Tomelthen at the oasis. Watering hole gossip always spreads the fastest.” Kelsey shook his head. “I don’t understand. I know I’m biased, but I just don’t see how anyone could hold you responsible for the things the other Bhaalspawn have done. It just isn’t fair to you.”

Maera shrugged. “They’re scared.”

He tilted his head, eyes gentle. “Of all the people to be afraid of.”

She smiled at him teasingly. “Yeah, you’re biased. But you’re in good spirits,” she said softly. “I hope that means you have good news.”

He nodded, unable to contain his smile. “I do, actually. They’re okay. Singed and scraped and exhausted when I found them, but they’re okay. Turns out a lot of people were able to make it out through the north gate before the walls were breeched. Mirena’s leg was broken in the bombardment and Kelvim carried her over a mile until they found a safe spot. He was single-handedly whipping their little group of survivors into a functioning refugee camp when I found them.” He couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice and Maera smiled. “So I helped him. Finding others, getting them organized, helping them share resources. We make a pretty good team, actually.”

“The magnificent Coltrane brothers in action,” she laughed.

“Something like that. They’re planning on staying until Mirena can travel and then head home. I know Kelvim hates to cut their trip short, but considering everything they’ve been through, it’s really for the best.”

“I am so glad to hear that,” Maera said with a relieved smile. “It’s really great to have good news for once.” She ducked her head. “Can I be selfish and admit I’m more glad to see you again, though?”

“Absolutely,” he smiled.

“Well, I am. I missed you.” She touched his cheek. “You look tired.”

“I’m exhausted.” He tugged at the front of his robe, and she helped him pull it off. Freed, he lay back on the mediocre mattress. “I had forgotten is how much time you have to think, when you’re out there on your own.”

“Come to any world-changing epiphanies?” she asked lightly.

“Maybe.” He smiled up at her. “I thought about you.”

“If you’ve got any insights, I’d love to hear them, because lately, I don’t have a clue.”

He tugged at a stray lock of her hair in gentle reproof. “Don’t make me resort to obscene levels of flattery again, because I’ll do it.”

She covered her face in mock horror. “Anything but that!” They laughed, and he wrestled her hands away. Holding her wrists, he gazed up at her, his expression growing strangely solemn. For some reason, it made her heart race.

“I was right,” he whispered.

“Right about what?”

He took a deep breath and sat up again, facing her. “I did have an insight, and you just proved it right.” He cupped her cheek gently. “Maera, you changed my life. You know that, but I’ll never get tired of telling you anyway. And from the moment I met you I didn’t want anything else. I’ve known for almost that long that I want this to last. I genuinely think we can have a lifetime ahead of us, Maera, that we can have a home, and a life, and be a family together.” She watched his face in breathless silence as he swept his hand back through her hair. “But I realized I was taking all that on faith. I was assuming. And you – you deserve so much more than assumptions. You deserve a promise.”

Her lips parted, but it took several seconds for any words to emerge. Finally she asked, “Kelsey…where are you going with this?”

He chuckled nervously. “I think I’m asking you to marry me.” His eyes met hers, hopeful, and adoring, and terrified. “Will you?”

She’d never really thought about marriage much. Like so many of the strange, exotic beasts of the outside world, it had only existed for her between the pages of a book, a concept she had never seen in practice until she met Khalid and Jaheira. To the uninformed observer, their relationship would have seemed perilously lopsided, but time and their constant company had shown Maera the delicate give and take of partnership, the interlocking of strength and weakness. She had mentioned that to Jaheira once, who had smiled slightly and replied, “Marriage is the ultimate expression of the balance.” At the time, she hadn’t really understood what that meant. Now she did, and there was her answer.

“Yeah, I will.” His smile spread and she added, taking his hand, “You deserve a promise too. And this deserves a name.”

“Husband has a nice ring to it.”

“Actually, wife does too, for that matter.”

They grinned at each other; his cheeks ached from his smile and he was desperate to kiss her, but Jaheira’s admonition still rang in his ears. To still the voices urging immediate physical action, he reached into one of his pockets, removing a small cloth-wrapped object. “I think this was what started the line of thought.” He peeled back the wrapping, revealing a simple silver ring, set with a perfectly polished bit of amber as rich as drop of dark honey. “I found it the day I left Saradush, wedged between a couple of paving stones in the main plaza. All it took was a little polishing to get it looking new again. When I saw it, all I could think was that it was perfect for you, so…I guess I had sort of an Imoen moment.”

She laughed as he slid the ring onto her finger. “I won’t tell her if you won’t.”

“Thank you.”

She held her hand up to admire its new adornment. “I like it,” she announced. “But I wish I had something to give you.” She bit her lip, and inspiration struck. “Actually, I do.”

She pulled a familiar piece of gently battered parchment from her pack, quickly writing something on it with the stubby end of a pencil. She handed him the deed, and he didn’t quite understand what she had done, until he reached the bottom. Next to his own name, she had added ‘Maera Coltrane’, crossing the T with a flourish. He stared at her. “You don’t have to take my surname,” he said.

“I don’t have one of my own,” she replied, shrugging, “so I don’t mind borrowing if you don’t mind sharing.”

With great care and deliberation, he set the deed on the bedside table, then grabbed her waist and pulled her onto the bed with him in one joyful motion. Horror widened his eyes just before they kissed. “What about your nose?”

“It’s been long enough,” she said stoutly, but then uncertainty crossed her face. “But if it hasn’t…do you mind being married to a woman with a slightly crooked nose?”

“Well, you need at least one flaw,” he grinned.

She rolled her eyes, trying not to be pleased at the flattery. “That’s it. You’re in trouble now, mister.”

His accusations of mistreatment were insincere and short-lived.

* * *

 

Kelsey woke suddenly, hours later, unsure of what had jolted him out of sleep. There had been no loud noise, no abrupt light or commotion. For a few seconds, he lay in confusion; then Maera stirred beside him, drawing a ragged breath, and he understood. The twitch in her movement, the faint whimpering sound of her breathing – she was having one of her dreams again. And something had told him to wake up, just as she did, with a deep, tearing gasp and a whole body shudder, as if she’d had to physically wrench herself out of the nightmare.

He didn’t say anything, but gently rested his hand on her side. She flinched, then sighed, her body still quivering with tension. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered miserably. “I woke you up again.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. You should be able to get a full night’s sleep. What if we’re old and gray and I’m still waking you up at night with my bad dreams?”

“I’ll be glad I’ve gotten to be old and gray with you.”

Her laugh was small and humorless. “Nice try, honey. But…thank you.”

He wrapped his arms around her gently in reply, and she exhaled, rolling slightly to tuck herself closer to his chest. When they had first begun to share sleeping space on a regular basis, he had thought her propensity for using him as a pillow was simply the byproduct of narrow inn beds and limited tent space, but when having access to an impressively large bed in Suldanessellar had not broken her of it, he had come to the amused conclusion that Maera of Candlekeep, the famed and fearsome, was an inveterate cuddler. And that was a bit of secret knowledge he could happily keep to himself. He shifted (as best he could), and continued to stroke her back as she relaxed. He wasn’t sure how long they lay in silence while she pushed away the remnants of the dream, slowly sliding back into sleep. And maybe then, he might finally feel like he could sleep again too.

But he had meant what he’d said – the occasional night of interrupted sleep was a trade-off worth making, if it meant getting to spend his days with her.

_Who is she, Kelsey?_

He remembered standing on the crest of the hill overlooking Saradush, the refugee campfires dotting the landscape as the moon rose. He glanced, brow furrowed, at Kelvim, who’d asked the question.

“Maera. The way people talk about her she’s either a demon straight from the Abyss, or so pure-hearted and virtuous she’d put a paladin to shame. So I thought I’d ask someone who knows. Who is she? Really?”

Kelsey pondered that, gazing down the hill towards the city. It hadn’t taken much convincing to get the remaining militiamen to establish a perimeter to keep out looters, and their torches and mage lights glowed in the still night air. His brother cocked an eyebrow at his silence. “I didn’t think it’d be that hard a question.”

“It’s not. It’s just...got a lot of answers.”

“I don’t know about you, but I didn’t have a lot of plans for the night.”

“Waukeen’s purse, when did you turn into a smartass?” Kelvim snorted amiably, and Kelsey said, “I know this is going to sound incredibly cliché, but...she’s a hero. She helps others because I don’t think she could live with herself if she didn’t. She’s brave, and driven, and she always follows her conscience. She doesn’t do what she does because it’s convenient, or because it’s easy, or because someone told her to, it’s just…what she does.

Kelvim nodded thoughtfully. “There are a lot of rumors going around. People saying that she killed Yaga-Shura single-handedly.”

“She did, more or less. I think she felt like killing him herself was the only way she could make it right.”

“Well, that doesn’t make much sense.” Kelvim’s brow was creased in a mental accounting. “She didn’t owe anybody anything.”

“See, you or I might think that. And sometimes it drives me crazy - the way she takes things on herself that can’t possibly be her responsibility. But-”

“That’s what makes her a hero?” Kelvim, his expression shrewd, finished the thought.

“Yeah. The kind bards write songs about. Or at least they should.”

She was asleep again, and Kelsey could only hope that Bhaal would not intrude on her dreams again. But even if he did, there was nothing he could do to break her. She was invincible. And Kelsey realized that being the one who got to hold her made him feel invincible too.

* * *

 

Now that Kelsey had rejoined them, it was time to move into action swiftly. Early the next morning, they gathered in the room Jaheira and Imoen shared for a conference.

“We have wasted too much time already, sister,” Sarevok declared. “With Melissan’s Bhaalspawn dead at Saradush, the Five will turn their attention to you. And they will bring their combined strength to bear against you.”

“Good!” Maera shot back, never taking her eyes off the map Balthazar had given them. “At least when they’re doing that, they’re not slaughtering innocent people while they tear each other to shreds.”

“Still ignoring the big picture,” he groused. “Typical.” She raised a warning eyebrow at him and he folded his arms. “There are still two of them we cannot account for. And how much faith do really want to place in Melissan’s supposed intelligence?” He dismissed the map with a contemptuous wave.

Maera sighed. “Considering she apparently knows where they live but has never seen fit to ring the door bell, I know we can’t really trust it.”

“We cannot trust _her_ ,” Jaheira pointed out, and Maera nodded with a roll of her eyes.

“But unfortunately, she’s all we’ve got. Whatever her game is, all we can do is be ready for the rules to change when she decides she’s done helping.”

“That is a dangerous play, sister,” Sarevok said softly. He didn’t look angry anymore – worse, he looked earnest. She looked away uncomfortably.

“I am well aware of that. But they do exist, and we know they’re Bhaalspawn. She’s provided us with a direction. All we can do is cross bridges in the order we find them.”

“I’ve asked around,” Imoen said, “and none of our sellsword friends have heard anything about either of them hiring other mercs, but there are rumors about some of the orc clans in the mountains leaving their old ranges and consolidating.”

“Around here?” Maera pointed to the marker that indicated Abazigal’s stronghold, and Imoen nodded.

“It seems like every one of the Five has something different to bring to the table – that could be his schtick.”

“Then maybe we should go calling and find out.”

They set out from Amkethran in a wary mindset, east into the mountains, ready for anything, for they could be prepared for nothing. But the first day was uneventful. They followed narrow goat paths along the winding passes, and it was nearly sunset when they reached a decent camping spot for the night – a broad, mostly flat plateau with a screen of small scrub trees to cut the wind. Maera peered through the branches and breathed a sigh of wonder. “Oh wow.”

Below them stretched the Calim Desert, a seemingly limitless expanse of sand, glittering like gold in the light of the setting sun. Kelsey looked around her and smiled gently. “Never seen anything like it, huh?” She shook her head, still drinking in the view. “It stretches all the way to the Shining Sea,” he murmured, “to Calimport. You think Athkatla is big…it has nothing on Calimport, believe me.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “We could go there someday. Get lost in the sabbans. Drink spiced tea and be very politely insulted for being northern barbarians.”

“Well, now we have to.” She smiled. “Good thing I’ve got a tour guide.”

Jaheira made dinner that evening as usual, and Maera was assisting in a dogged attempt to reacclimate herself to the smell of cooking food. Imoen was under strict orders to stay out of the way, so she had dragooned Kelsey into amusing her while they waited. “Get any sleep last night?” she leered.

“Actually, yes,” he retorted, not looking up from their dirt checkers board. He moved his piece and sighed, trying not to let his breath disturb the lines. “She had another dream, though.”

Imoen pursed her lips. “They seem to be getting a lot more frequent. For both of us,” she added, looking askance. She deflected his concern with a bright smile. “So why does she keep messing with her hand? She hasn’t taken her gloves off all day. What’d you do, Red?”

He coughed; they weren’t _planning_ on keeping it a secret, but they also hadn’t seen any reason to make a major announcement. He was working on his reply as her eyes widened in comprehension. “You gave her a ring. You big, sentimental goober, you asked her to marry you, didn’t you?” He nodded sheepishly, and she threw herself across the board, destroying it in the process of tackling him. He fell back hard, the breath knocked from his lungs, and she crowed happily, “That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for y-” She sat up suddenly. “Wait. She did say yes, right?”

“Nah, I'm just stringing him along until I get a better offer,” Maera said. She stood over them with her arms crossed, gazing down at the tableau of ruined checkers and dusty loved ones, an eyebrow raised with near Jaheira-like precision. “Come on, you two. Dinner’s ready.”

She helped them up, and smiled as Kelsey wrapped his arms around her waist, slowing her progress back towards the fire and food. She was leagues away, in the warm cocoon of family, and did not notice Sarevok’s narrowed eyes.

* * *

 

Kelsey had a mid watch that night, and he was gratefully looking forward to its end. Sleep tugged at him persistently, and he unsuccessfully fought a yawn. It was cut short, however, by the snapping of a twig just outside his range of vision. Flame waited in his fingertips, eager for any reason to burst into life when he heard a voice, low, rumbling, and unpleasantly familiar.

“Peace, sorcerer.”

“Sarevok? What are you doing?”

“I wished to speak with you. Privately.”

Kelsey crossed his arms, trying not to feel undersized as the big man emerged from the darkness, his eyes catching the moonlight like a cat’s. “Well, you’ve got me.” There was no immediate response, and he began to understand why Maera found talking to him so maddening.

Then, a question. “Do you really think you can claim her?”

He didn’t have to ask who Sarevok was referring to. “Claim?” More silence. “She’s not a horse or a dog, so I can’t really ‘claim’ her.”

“And yet you behave as though you have.” It was Kelsey’s turn for silence, waiting for elaboration. Irritation seeped into Sarevok’s voice. “You touch her as if she were a common barmaid to be seduced. Who are you to take such liberty? Have you no respect for who and what she is?”

“I know exactly who she is. And if I’m really, really lucky, I’ll get to spend the rest of my life getting to know her better.” He glared up at Sarevok. “I don’t fear her, or worship her. I just love her. You may not think I hold her in proper awe, but she doesn’t seem to mind.”

“You have no idea,” Sarevok said softly, “what it is to be a Child of Bhaal. You cannot even conceive of it. If you think for even an instant that your magic gives you power equal to hers, banish that thought. You know you are not worthy of her.”

“She thinks I am. That’s what matters.” Kelsey’s jaw tightened. He should be waking Minsc and going to bed, not fielding Sarevok’s interrogation. “What is this really about, Sarevok? I have my own suspicions about why it matters so much, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

“I am her brother.”

Kelsey snorted; exhaustion was making him honest. “Brothers don’t look at sisters the way you look at her.”

A muscle twitched in Sarevok’s cheek. “Do not presume you understand what exists between two people whose lives have been tied to one another since before birth. She and I are a part of something greater than you can ever understand. You have not died by her hand; you have not known the touch of her soul restoring your life. You cannot even comprehend it.”

His immediate retort – that he was pretty damn familiar with other things her hands could do – was almost out of the gate before he managed to restrain it. “You’re right. I can’t entirely understand what she’s a part of. But you aren’t a part of it either. Not anymore. You’re just an ordinary mortal now, aren’t you?” Sarevok looked away, eyes narrowed to angry slits, and Kelsey felt a tiny stirring of triumph that the shot had struck home. After another silent moment, Sarevok spoke again.

“Perhaps I am. And perhaps I simply seek to follow in her wake to the glory I failed to attain before.” His voice dropped to a cold whisper. “Or perhaps I want what is best for her, and it sickens me to see her waste herself with one as limited as you.”

Kelsey’s hands shook, aching with unkindled fire. He clenched his fists and tried to force his voice to steadiness. “Did you ever think that maybe the Maera you’re so obsessed with is the person you wish she was, and not the person she really is? You can talk about fate and connection and entwined lives all you want, but don’t take it personally if you’re the only one who’s listening. She has the only opinion that matters. As long as she lets me be hers, I will, and no one else has any say in that. Now excuse me, I am going to bed.” He turned, took a few steps towards the camp, then turned, too tired and fed up to resist taking a final shot. “And Sarevok? Stay away from my girl.”

* * *

 

Minsc and Maera walked point the next morning as they continued through the mountains. Behind them, Jaheira rolled her eyes at the apparently gossipy conversation Imoen and Kelsey were having (“He did not!” had been exclaimed more than once), and Sarevok, as usual, brought up the rear, glowering with extra force. Maera paid it all only passing mind; Minsc was explaining the local flora to Boo, and it was refreshing to listen to him. There was no room in Minsc’s mind for getting lost in implications or over-thinking probabilities. She had found herself so wrapped up in confusion lately it was comforting to spend time with someone whose mission statement had not, and would never, change: Hit evil until it stopped twitching.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a question. “Maera?” Misnc sounded strangely self-conscious. “We are not bothering you, are we?”

“Of course not, Minsc! I was enjoying the lecture. I had no idea you knew so much about desert plants."

“Well, we did cross the great Anauroch, you know – Dynaheir and I. But that was years ago. Even before Boo.”

“The Sand Sea,” Maera murmured. “Sometimes I’m reminded just how little of the world I’ve seen. Anyway, why would you think you’re bothering me?”

Minsc’s broad face flushed. “You have such important things to think about these days. Gods and planes and powers and things that make even Boo’s head hurt! I did not want to cause you extra trouble.”

“Oh, Minsc.” She patted his plated forearm fondly. “Having you around keeps me honest.” The phrase obviously confused him, and she smiled as she explained. “You see good and evil. You want to be good and beat up evil, and so do I. So you’re my example.”

The redness in his face bloomed into a genuine blush as he took in her words, and he watched his feet carefully as they walked. “People say I am crazy. Most of them are not comfortable with crazy. But you have never cared.”

“Crazy, or just enthusiastic?” She smiled, and pointed at a spindly tree with long, needle-like leaves. “So what kind of tree is that one?”

By late afternoon, they had reached an open meadow, cupped within the higher elevations as if it were the palm of the mountains’ hand. The sun-bleached grass rippled in the sun, fluttering against the base of a granite colonnade that abutted the northern escarpment of the valley. Broad, tumbled steps led up to its uneven floor, which was decorated with a faded mosaic. What remained of the tiles seemed to form some sort of serpentine shape, worked in blue glazes that had not well withstood their long exposure to the harsh sun.

As Maera pondered the art beneath her feet, there was a hollow rumble, the sound of a stone door on tracks. A section of the rock wall began to slide, and the party tensed, their weapons ready. It came to a stop, and framed against the darkness of a cave entrance stood a rank of orcs, who blinked in the daylight. Maera only had time to wonder at the dark blue surcotes they wore over their piecemeal armor before they had come to themselves enough to charge.

There were two dozen or so, as near as she could tell, and though none of them were terribly skilled, in their numbers and on the rough surface, they were not to be underestimated. She ducked under the swing of a heavy spiked club, trying not to be backed into Jaheira’s way. Slicing upward, she dispatched her opponent, turning for the next. The orc grabbed at her with his free hand, and she narrowly missed the hold. Sliding behind him, she aimed a kick at the inadequately armored back of his knee. She whipped about to face the half-kneeling orc, raising Daystar to finish him when his eyes widened, shifting suddenly from a dull yellow-green to a vivid ice blue.

“You are Maera,” the orc said. Though his voice was every bit as gravelly and deep as she would have expected, he spoke with an accent far more fluid and articulate than that of any orc she had ever met. At the sound of it, every one of his fellows still fighting dropped their weapons, raising their hands in surrender. The party stared at one another in confusion as the first orc continued to speak. “I knew that you would seek me out. I have seen it.”

Maera slowly lowered her sword, never taking her eyes from the unnatural ones before her. “I take it I’m speaking to Abazigal?”

The orc dipped his head in a nod. “You are.”

“Do you frequently play highwayman with your underlings’ brains?”

“As I said, I knew you would come here, and when I realized my troops had engaged, I thought it best to see you for myself.” Abazigal-in-the-orc subjected her to a penetrating stare. “So you’re the one who killed Yaga-Shura. Interesting. At least he fulfilled his objective before he got what was coming to him.”

“‘What was coming to him’? I guess the Five’s no best friends club? You don’t send each other presents at Midwinter Fest?”

The orc waved a hand, a comical gesture from one who would not normally dismiss anything in such a way. “You know better than that. We may make a temporary alliance, but ultimately, we must destroy each other for our father’s throne. It is the reason for our existence, and the reason you are here.” A condescending smile twisted the orc’s face. “But I will give you a chance to choose a quick, painless end, rather than the prolonged suffering of battle. After all, does it not seem right that Bhaal’s firstborn should ascend, rather than the runt of the litter? You have waited barely more than a score of years for this time to come; I have seen it on the horizon for centuries. It was I our great father first brought into being so long before his own death; that I might be here, now. You are young. And as your life has passed swiftly, so may your death, if you have the sense to choose it.”

The pure, undiluted arrogance in the other Bhaalspawn’s tone made her skin crawl, and Maera’s first instinct was to spit in his face. But that would unfair to the poor orc. She forced calm into her voice. “Let me see if I’m with you here. You’ve come here to offer me the opportunity to die quickly by your hand instead of fighting you, because the former is apparently much preferable to the latter.” He nodded. “Here’s the thing, Abazigal: you say I’m here to destroy you for ‘our father’s throne’. You’ve just proved that you don’t know anything about me. You think I care about a throne? Knowing Bhaal, it’s probably covered in spikes, and that doesn’t sound very comfortable.”

“Foolish, flippant child,” Abazigal sneered. “How have you managed to stay alive so long with so little understanding of what is at stake?”

“What is at stake is this whole world,” Maera replied, dark eyes boring into the blue before her. “And if I don’t stop you here, you’ll burn it all, because somehow you’ve gotten it into your head that that’s what it deserves. So I reject your offer, because I will not commit suicide to spare myself. If I’m going to die, I’m going to make you bleed first.”

Abazigal-in-the-orc stared back at her. “Very well. Bring them to me,” he said, addressing the others. “It would appear the upstart must learn her place.” The orc blinked hard, and in the instant before his eyes rolled back in his head, Maera could see they had returned to normal.

The rest of the surviving orcs paid no attention to the unconscious ex-oracle as they formed up around Maera and her companions. They left him slumped the ground, urging the adventurers into the caves. One, whose bone headdress marked him as a shaman, summoned a light for them.

“So...” Maera glanced at the orc nearest her, adopting a brightly casual tone. “Like working for Abazigal?”

“Can't talk to you,” the orc muttered, staring straight ahead.

“Why not? Afraid he'll hijack your head next?” The orc didn't reply, but she could see the nerve she'd struck. “Is he some kind of wizard?”

“Bad news.”

She raised an eyebrow. Orcs rarely had opinions about their employers if there was loot and a good time to be had. She lowered her voice. “Bad how?”

“BIG bad.”

Maera shot the orc a calculating glance. “Look, I’m only here for him. He’s the one my quarrel is with. So maybe, once I’ve got his full attention, you and your fellows make a break for it. Find yourself some more profitable pastures.”

That suggestion prompted a shake of the head. “Come after us.”

“Not if I kill him.” The orc snorted, then quickly covered it with a cough. “What, don’t think I can?”

He shrugged. “Think you don’t know what you into. But…” He glanced around nervously. “We not get in the way, okay?”

“Good enough.”

Their descent took them deep into the mountain, through a narrow, twisted passage. The orcs were subdued and edgy, and had nothing to say to each other or anyone else. Whoever Abazigal was, he had them terrified.

The passage terminated in an open cavern, its dark stone walls studded with large quartz formations that had been enchanted to provide light. A lone figure stood in the center of the flat space, waiting. As they approached, they saw that it was a man with heavy features that looked more like a wood carving of a face than one in actuality, and an oddly bluish cast to his skin. The orcs nervously shoved the adventurers towards him, and he turned his blue eyes towards them, subjecting each of them to a long, assessing gaze. After a tense, frigid silence, he said to his minions, “You may go. I don’t believe I will require you for this.” The orcs beat a quick retreat, and Maera had a feeling they would not be back.

Abazigal looked at Maera. “Such stories I’ve heard of you, little sister. The rebel. The prodigal. What makes you so very different?”

Maera shrugged. There was something deeply unsettling about his craggy features and strange voice, but she wouldn’t let him see her sweat. “Guess I like to do my own thinking instead of letting Bhaal do it for me.”

“Then that fuels your contempt. You think the rest of us fools.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

He spread his hands. He had very long, pointed fingernails. “What is the greater foolishness? To fight one’s own nature, or heed the stirrings of one’s very soul?”

She couldn’t help it; she sighed. “And now you’re just another big talker who thinks they know me better than I do. When you’ve got an original line, come find me then.”

Abazigal lifted his heavy eyebrows. “There is a special sort of arrogance in adolescents. When children think they have seen the world and understand how it works. You are far too young to dismiss me so casually. If you knew the truth, you would not be so glib.”

“You think? Try me.”

“Very well.”

And then he changed.

Blue scales gleamed in the mage lights, dappled from midnight to cobalt, from the tiny flecks no larger than a fingernail covering his triangular head to the ones the size of dinner plates armoring his sides and flanks. He narrowed his massive eyes, and puffed out a breath between his dagger-like fangs, wings spread. “Now do you understand?”

Of course. The voice of logic in her mind, the one that sounded like Gorion, realized that it made perfect sense. Dragons were so long-lived, and wouldn’t the Lord of Murder want a dragon among his offspring? Even as the hindbrain animal instinct gibbered in terror, logic thought, _But since he bothered with more beyond the first, the first can’t be unbeatable. Dragons can die, just like anything else._ There was no time for strategy or elaborate plans, and she smiled thinly as she unsheathed Daystar. She did her best work on the fly, anyway.

The air contracted and popped as Imoen’s shield magic sprang to life around her, and just in time, for Abazigal widened his mouth and with a strange cry, coughed forth a bolt of lightning that shattered itself on the shield. Minsc and Sarevok harried his hindquarters as she went straight for the chest; Abzaigal whipped his long tail about, catching Sarevok just below the knee with a crack. Maera hoped it was not bone she heard. It only seemed to make him angry, but for Sarevok, that didn’t serve as a very good indicator of injury.

A rear claw lashed out, but Minsc danced out of its way, taking off two of the talons as it went by. A tangled nest of vines burst from the ground, holding the foot in place as the ranger regained his stance – Jahiera’s work. Maera had to duck and roll out of the path of the dragon’s right forefoot, and it was testing her temper; Abazigal was keeping her moving too much, and she had barely been able to land a blow. His scales shimmered suddenly, rippling peculiarly, and Maera realized Imoen was wearing down the natural magic in his hide to give Kelsey the chance to get in a shot. Abazigal’s reaction to the wardbreakers was like that of a horse to a swarm of flies – he twisted his head about almost involuntary, and Maera saw her opening in the tender webbing of skin near the crook of foreleg and body. The scales there were so fine they almost could not be seen as individuals, and she slashed hard and deep. Hot blood splashed down on her as she struck, and the dragon roared.

“No respect for your elders, I see,” he growled.

Maera dodged another swipe of his claws. “I don’t think Bhaal had much of a succession plan in mind,” she panted. “You may have been the first, but to him, you were just one of many.”

Abazigal breathed an enraged streak of lightening at her once more, and this time, it was more than Imoen’s shield could bear. The magic broke, and Abazigal’s long mouth curved in a reptilian smile as he inhaled to breathe again. A sphere of white-hot flame exploded across his face as he did, curling the edges of his scales and eliciting a scream of pain. Kelsey had chosen his moment well.

He tossed another fireball, aiming for Abazigal’s throat, trying to buy Imoen time to recast the shields on those in the melee. The sky blue scales at the juncture of head and neck charred, and the dragon’s fury was both gratifying and frightening. His tail sliced through the air once more, and this time, it couldn’t be avoided. Minsc hit the ground hard, a long dent stretching the width of his breastplate, and Kelsey could only console himself that it must have hurt Abazigal just as much. Jaheira aimed her attention at the wound Maera had opened in his foreleg, striking at the weakened limb to throw the dragon off balance, and he raised the other to slash her out of the way. Maera turned and saw the claws descending. She grabbed the druid’s shoulders and hurled her out of the way, just before the outer talon caught her at the right shoulder, cutting through her armor like tissue, shattering bone and ripping flesh. The blow drove her to her knees, eyes wide and staring with shock, but for an instant it seemed to Kelsey that she looked at him. Then they rolled back in her head, and she dropped face first to the ground, her blood pooling on the stone floor.

“One of many, indeed,” Abazigal rasped.

Kelsey heard the rest of the group shout their anger, their fear, their defiance, but all he could see was her blood, and all he could think was _No._

Not like this. She couldn’t die like this. Not now. No. No. Nononononono…

“NO!” His hands rose with his voice.

The magic that lived within him was energy. Somewhere in his mind, or his soul, or somewhere else, deep within, it had a sort of reservoir, where it remained until conscious thought gave it shape, turning it into fire, ice, acid, or whatever form he needed it to take. But there was no conscious thought now, only rage and denial. The power that left his hands was raw, unfiltered, unfettered magic, the pure energy of the Weave itself, and it struck Abazigal like a titan’s fist, the air around the dragon shimmering like a heat mirage. It seemed to have no end, pouring through him not to burn or freeze but simply eradicate. Scales peeled from skin, which melted from muscle, which evaporated from bone, and all the while Abazigal screamed in agony.

Then there was silence. Kelsey barely felt the ground shudder as the dragon toppled in a heap, barely registered the stares of the others. His head was so light it seemed it might just float away like a bit of cloud, but his legs felt as if they were made of lead. Jaheira crouched over Maera, and Imoen reached to help her, but stopped halfway, still gaping at Kelsey. “Holy hells, Red,” she managed finally, “what _was_ that?”

He had to concentrate very hard to get the muscles in his jaw moving again, and convince his tongue not to loll uselessly in his mouth. He swallowed. “Everything,” he said, and wondered why the ground was moving towards him.


	33. Daughters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You’re different. Almost as if by design."_

Maera was not fully conscious when she pulled them back into the pocket plane. It was, Jaheira thought, more like the reaction of a wounded animal, an instinct for flight she was not in full control of. Which was why it was a very rough passage indeed, materializing them all nearly a foot off the ground. Jaheira had to scramble to keep Maera’s head from striking the hard marble floor, and behind her, she could hear Minsc doing the same with Kelsey.

“Fool girl,” Jaheira muttered when she had regained her equilibrium. She put her hands on either side of the wounded shoulder, and closed her eyes as the energy flowed through her – water from the root to the leaf, sunlight from the leaf to the root. First, the worst of the damage: the severed blood vessels and nerves, then the muscle and tendons, then bone and skin. It would not be a quick process, and she set her jaw, praying for the patience to pace herself.

“Imoen,” she said, eyes still closed, “how is Kelsey?”

“Um…he’s breathing. His heartbeat’s strong. I guess he just passed out. Too much magic at once?”

“Perhaps.” And he was a fool too. They were well-suited, really; both so bright and thoughtless, putting themselves in harm’s way so carelessly. Idiot children, half dead in the defense of someone else. She tried to ignore the moisture gathering behind her closed eyelids.

“Have Minsc put him to bed. He should rest, and I’m not sure there is anything I can do for him anyway.” She heard Imoen’s voice, and Minsc’s, then movement, and threw herself wholly into the mending of the battered girl under her hands.

It had been some time since she had had to work such prolonged and complex healing, but arduous as it was, it felt good. There was a primal satisfaction in returning a body to its proper working state. And she had certainly done that often enough for Maera. How many times had she wrenched this overzealous young madwoman back from the edge of death? More than Gorion would ever have been comfortable with, certainly. And in those times, Jaheira had come to know the workings of Maera’s body almost as well as she did her own. It was impossible not to; healing meant sliding into another’s skin and encouraging it to do what it would do naturally. Every person had their own unique pattern of energy, their own particular body chemistry, and Maera’s was as familiar as her own heartbeat.

Except…

She opened her eyes, brow furrowed. Something was different this time. That was odd. She couldn’t possible be-

Maera stirred, eyes opening, slow and unfocused. “Do not move,” Jaheira cautioned. “I am not finished.” The younger woman nodded, and winced.

“What happened? Everybody alright?”

“Abazigal is dead. By Kelsey’s hand, no less.”

Maera smiled woozily. “No kidding.”

“It was…rather spectacular. He is resting now. Apparently he overtaxed himself.”

“That’s my job.” Maera attempted to roll her eyes and Jaheira resisted the urge to cuff her.

“You were the most seriously injured, though I must see about Sarevok’s leg shortly.” Her mouth twisted in distaste, and Maera smiled again.

“More than he deserves.” Jaheira slid an arm behind her back, helping her sit up, and she hissed softly as the muscles protested. She sat obediently still as the druid began to wind a long bandage around her torso, binding her right arm against her side to keep her shoulder immobile.

“It will be several hours before the bones knit. Rest until then.” Maera nodded, then peered at her, head beginning to clear.

“Is something wrong, Jaheira?”

Jaheira pursed her lips, debating internally. While she weighed the pros and cons, she stood and poured water into a basin, gathering a cloth to wash the remaining dried blood from Maera’s face and hair. Finally, her decision made, she firmly shut the door. “Maera…we should talk.”

* * *

 

Everyone else was asleep now, but Maera couldn’t have slept if she’d wanted to. She wandered the main chamber, the marble floor cool on her bare feet. She sank into the cushions of the deep black sofa with a sigh and carefully drew her knees up to her chest. How much longer would she be able to do that? Her shoulder ached dully, but she was grateful for it. The pain kept her mind from drifting too far.

A soft humming startled her, until she realized it was Cespenar, busily patching her armor with a long hooked needle, using stitches so fine she could barely see them. The imp looked up, and said sheepishly, “Cespenar hopes the great one does not mind.” She looked past him to the armor racks against the far wall. Already Minsc and Sarevok’s plate was dent-free and polished to a fare-thee-well. “You sure is seeing a lot of work! Mighty busted up!”

“I don’t mind at all, Cespenar,” she said quietly. “It looks like you’re doing a good job.”

He blushed emerald green, then asked hesitantly, “You is thinkin’ lots?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a lot of my mind at the moment.”

“Is…anything you needs help with?”

She cocked her head. “Why would you want to help me?"

“You is the Great One! You mades this place!” He lowered his voice confidentially. “You is the reason I haves a job again.”

To her surprise, she chuckled at that. “Well…you’re welcome, I guess.” She sighed again. “Don’t worry about it, Cespenar. Just keep doing what you’re doing. That’s all any of us can do, really.”

“But there is no reason to do so with a heavy heart,” the solar said, appearing on the opposite sofa as if she had been there the entire time. She somehow managed to still look dignified, even though the seat was like child’s furniture to her. Cespenar did not even flinch; Maera wondered if he could see her at all. “What troubles you, godchild?”

“Why ask? You probably already know.”

The solar smiled serenely, untouched by her waspish tone. “I know many things, yes. But we all gain insight in the articulation of our thoughts. Such is the power of language.”

Maera rested her chin on her knees, trying to bring some order to the tumult in her head. “I grew up listening to the Chanters. To Alaundo’s prophecies being recited every day. And I always believed that everything happens when and where it does for a reason, because everything flows together. Nothing happens in isolation. There are no accidents.” She puffed out a long, slow breath. “It’s easier to handle as a purely philosophical concept sometimes.” She looked up at the solar, who regarded her with calm, crystalline eyes. “I thought that _not_ doing what Bhaal expected of his children was my purpose, that being contrary was enough. Now it doesn’t feel like it.”

“Then would it give you comfort to know you are correct in that supposition, godchild? The proper working of all the multiverse requires opposition. And just as virtue is predicated upon the existence of vice, so too must there be a stone to break the path of the river of blood. Your ‘being contrary’, as you put it, is a necessity. It is the role into which you have been cast.” She smiled again. “How you choose to act it is, of course, entirely up to you.”

Maera stared at her feet. “Why me?” she asked softly. “Who decided I was the right person?”

“It is not your qualities that brought you to this part. You must turn your perspective, godchild.” With that, the solar was gone again, and Maera rubbed her arms in nervous contemplation.

Cespenar held up her finished jerkin with a flourish. “Ta-da!"

* * *

 

Kelsey drifted back towards consciousness like a bit of wood slowly bobbing up to the surface of a pond. The only thing he could be reliably certain of was that he felt like hell. He groaned as he lifted his head, and the fair-haired figure seated on the edge of the bed looked at him. Reality flooded back, and he tried to sit up, but she was already there, leaning over him with an arm tucked under his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her with a sigh of relief. Everything was all right now.

“You’re alive,” he whispered as she pulled back from the embrace.

“So are you,” Maera replied. “How do you feel?”

“Not so great. I don’t think I should do that again.”

“What did you do, anyway? I think the word Jaheira used was ‘spectacular’, and coming from her, that’s quite a statement.”

He looked up at her, pale but smiling, and remembered her on the floor of Abazigal’s cavern, covered in her own blood. He remembered the clutching hand of horror in his chest at the sight, and the magic pouring out of him, as if he were bleeding too. “I hit him with everything I had. All at once.” With her help, he sat up, now able to get a better look at her. She looked drawn, and oddly vulnerable, her right arm bound against her side, the bulky bandages clearly outlined under her oversized shirt. “Are you okay, Maera?”

“Tired,” she said. “My shoulder still hurts, but it’s getting better.”

He took her hand, rolling her ring between thumb and forefinger. “Something’s bothering you.”

She shrugged, one shouldered. “I had another talk with the solar. Not very long, but it gave me some things to think about.” He nodded, but she did not seem inclined to elaborate. The silence stretched, and finally she continued, “And Jaheira told me something…surprising. When I woke up. I’ve been chewing on it for a while now.” He nodded again, encouragingly, and she muttered, “It’s a good thing you’re already sitting down.” She inhaled deeply, and then said, “I’m pregnant.”

“Oh.” That seemed to sum it up fairly well. “Um…okay.” He tried to fit this knowledge into his current view of the universe. It didn’t work. “Okay, _what_?”

Maera stared down at her unbandaged hand. “If it’s any consolation, I had no idea either. I mean, my cycle’s never been terribly reliable, and I’ve been tired lately, but other than that…”

“You’ve been a little emotional,” he offered carefully. For an instant, he was afraid she would take offense, but she simply chuckled in tired agreement. He went back to looking for the bottom that had fallen out of his stomach. “I thought…I thought we were taking precautions.”

“We were. Militantly.” She heaved another sigh. “It would seem there was a sneak attack.” She covered her mouth. “Oh gods, that was an awful pun. I’m so sorry.” He chuckled in spite of his shock, and she shot him a hesitant smile, then touched his hand cautiously, as if afraid he would withdraw it. “I’m sorry to drop this on you now…I probably shouldn’t have. I probably should have waited, but I…just couldn’t. I needed to talk about it.”

Her eyes dropped again, and he reached for her, pulling her across his legs, onto his lap to look her full in the face. She situated her legs on either side of his, straddling him, and for a moment, his mind indulged in thoughts his body was not yet prepared to follow through on. “Maera, no. It’s okay. Thank you for telling me. It’s…a shock, but what matters is that you’re okay. I mean, you were really badly hurt, and…” He let the rest of the thought dangle in the air.

Maera nodded. “Yeah, Jaheira said she was surprised I didn’t miscarry.” She stared down, fingers picking restlessly at the front of his shirt. “It would have been over before I even knew about it. I wouldn’t have even had a chance to miss it.”

He watched her downcast features, apprehensive, and not completely sure why. “Are you alright with this?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I’m really not. Maybe?” She looked up, her eyes just as anxious as his. “Are you?”

“Well… I had thought it might be nice to start a family with you someday. I just wasn’t expecting us to start so soon.” She half-smiled at that, and looked away again; he took her face between his hands, and added firmly, “But ultimately, it’s whatever you want, Maera. Okay?” She nodded, and he kissed her forehead, wrapping his arms around her again. “But between you and me…I think you can do anything.”

She laughed weakly. “Well, I’m still terrified, but thanks for the vote of confidence.” She buried her face against his neck, worming as deep into his arms as she could manage. “But for now, less talking and more hugging, please."

Kelsey closed his eyes. “You got it, boss.”

* * *

 

They gathered in the central room again to discuss strategy, and sat arrayed on the black sofas; all but Sarevok, of course, who paced about the periphery.

“I do not wish to cast gloom on our success, but we were very fortunate Abazigal chose to face us alone,” Jaheira said. “We cannot assume we shall be similarly lucky with Sendai.”

“So any guesses on what Sendai is?” Maera asked. “Gorgon? Basilisk?”

“Two-headed troll?” Imoen offered.

“Giant horned weasel bat?” Minsc’s eyes were wide; he was clearly naming the thing that horrified him most.

“Kappa?” Kelsey suggested. Everyone looked at him. “They’re water demons from Kara-tur.”

“Oh,” the others replied in unison.

Jaheira sighed, mildly martyred. The conversation was already far too silly for her liking. “Sendai is a female name. Of elvish origin. Does that help?”

Maera cleared her throat, looking askance. “It does, actually. Thank you, Jaheira.”

“So where does this leave us?” Kelsey asked. He sat very close to Maera, even closer than usual, and Imoen noticed that the air grew a little chillier every time he and Sarevok looked at each other. “If we’re going by Melissan’s accounting, there still leaves two we know nothing about.”

Maera glanced at Sarevok. “You’re the one who did all the Bhaalspawn research. Any ideas?” She was sure it was her imagination that he looked slightly smug.

“The main focus of my research was not to uncover identities, but to learn the plan our father had for us. However, the actions of our siblings lead me to believe there was similar study on their part. Bhaal spread his essence widely among his Children so that there would be no one moral vessel for that power until the time was right. We are in that time now, but as you well know, many of our fellows died in childhood because anxious Bhaalites chose to misunderstand his words and could not wait.”

“But that’s what this all comes down to? Killing each other off to thin the numbers? To create a mortal vessel?” Sarevok nodded, and Maera gave a snort. “Well, that’s bullshit. Because if that means Im and I are supposed to have some sort of cosmic battle to the death, I think Bhaal knows where he can shove it.”

Sarevok’s shrug was a minimalist affair. “That is not germane to our current discussion, sister. What matters is that Sendai, and the two unknowns, are no doubt also aware of this. Time is fleeting.”

“Isn’t it though.” Maera rubbed her forehead. “Looking at the map, it seems like Sendai’s…enclave…lair…fortress…whatever is the base of a valley, quite a ways off any of the roads. The main question is, do we go back to Amkethran, or trust the pocket plane?”

“It will always take you where you need to be,” Sarevok reminded her.

“When it listens to me.”

“We may be expected on the Amkethran route,” Jaheira said. “Wherever we find ourselves upon exit from this plane, I doubt it will be an obvious location. That will give us an advantage, and the chance to reconnoiter. We will need all the intelligence we can gather.”

Maera nodded. “Yes, we will. All right, everyone collect your gear. We can leave as soon as everyone’s ready.”

* * *

 

The world resolved about them, and they took a moment to take in their surroundings. They were in the midst of a pine thicket, the needles waving at being displaced by their sudden appearance. The trees trailed down a rocky slope, and further investigation proved they were on a ledge above a narrow gorge that terminated in high limestone cliffs. A small, tumbledown cottage stood at the base of the cliffs, an empty cart just outside the door, but there was no sign of habitation – no well or privy, no scattered tools or laundry left to dry in the late afternoon sun.

“This is where we need to be?” Imoen shot a skeptical look at Sarevok, who, unsurprising, did not deign to respond.

“Well, we can’t really do any serious investigating by daylight anyway,” Maera said, wondering the same thing, “So we’ll just have to wait until nightfall to poke around and see what we can learn. Hopefully, current appearances not withstanding, we’re in the right place.”

She drifted towards the tree line, staring down towards the strange little cabin. “I hope Tall, Dark, and Gravelly is right about this,” Imoen said from behind her.

“Me too. Though if that’s her base, it’s a pretty impressive cover.”

“I’m sure there are caves involved,” her sister replied. “I mean, I don’t have any proof to back that up, but let’s face it, caves are the go-to locale for evil lairs. And you’re right, that little house would be a perfect cover.” They stood in silence for a while longer as the sun sank ever lower behind the mountain crags, and then Imoen spoke again. “So Red knocked you up, huh?”

Flustered, Maera fumbled for a reply, but she realized she should have known better than be surprised. “Did Jaheira tell you, or did you eavesdrop?” she sighed.

“Little of both.”

“Uh huh. Alright, yes, but we are not telling Minsc. Not if I don’t want to get carried everywhere.”

“And Sarevok?”

“I would think that goes without saying.”

Imoen stifled a laugh. “I figured.” She slipped an arm around Maera’s waist, her face grown serious. “Mae, knowing this is going to make it a lot harder to watch you throw yourself around in a fight.”

“How do you think I feel about having to do it? But I can’t stop now, Im. I’d love to, but I can’t. This whole thing is coming to a head very, very soon. I don’t know how or where exactly, but I can feel it. And I know you can too.” Imoen nodded. “So all I can do is hope that this is happening now, under these circumstances, for a reason, even if I don’t know what it is.”

“You sound like you really want it.”

Maera was silent for a moment. “I think I do,” she said softly. “I never really thought about kids, you know? I never thought my life would be normal enough for children to even be a consideration. And hell…it’s not!” She laughed suddenly, then sobered and ducked her head. “Wanna hear something weird?”

“Always,” Imoen said immediately.

“It’s his. Ours. Mine and Kelsey’s. I don’t know why that matters, but…it does.”

Imoen hugged her a little harder, and rested her head against her sister’s shoulder. “It could be fun to be an aunt. And you know Kelsey’d be a great dad.”

Maera smiled faintly. “Yeah, he would. He will. Good thing too, because I don’t know the first thing about being a mother.” She sighed heavily. “That’s what I keep coming back to. My first instinct is fear, yeah, but…it’s an excited fear. The kind of fear that says ‘Okay, you’ve never done this before, but it could be fun if you give it a chance.’ But then my brain kicks in, and that’s when it turns into panic. I mean, who would ever look at me and say that I’m good parenting material?”

They were quiet again, watching the deep shadows fall across the valley, the sky fading from indigo to brilliant orange. And then Imoen asked, “Do you remember when we were kids, and we would sit on the battlements and talk about what we imagined our mothers were like?”

Maera nodded, a fleeting bit of sorrow ghosting across her face. “Yeah. Too bad mine turned out to be pretty much the opposite of maternal.”

“Mae, the woman who happened to give birth to you is not the issue here. What I’m getting at is that the mother you always wished you had…you can be that woman yourself, for your own child.”

Maera regarded her for a long moment. “Im, do you remember when _I_ was the mature, level-headed one?”

“No, not really.”

* * *

 

The stars began to appear when Maera sent Imoen and Jaheira down into the valley to take a look around. An hour or so passed before they emerged from the trees, and they were not alone. “We brought you a present!” Imoen said brightly, shoving a bound and gagged drow male to the ground at Maera’s feet.

“What do we want that for?” Sarevok asked.

“If he knows what’s good for him,” Jaheira said in cool, precise Elvish, “he will tell us everything we need to know.” She switched back to Common as she addressed Maera. “You and Imoen were correct about the cabin. It’s concealing the entrance to a cave. Probably more of a cave network, actually.”

“And our friend here,” Imoen continued in Elvish; no doubt for the prisoner’s benefit, “had the bad luck to wander out right as we were about to leave.” She patted his head, eyes huge with sympathy. “Does Sendai not have a latrine down there for you guys?”

Maera pulled the drow into a sitting position and squatted in front of him. “I’m going remove the gag,” she told him. “Behave yourself and we’ll get along just fine.” He glared at her, but when she loosened the cloth in his mouth, he made no sound. “Now, tell me about Sendai.”

The drow’s face was tight. “Torture me if you wish, surfacer. You’ll get nothing from me.”

“Torture?” She chuckled. “Oh, torture’s a terrible way to get information. No, I have a much better idea. I think I’ll just have my large associates here take you up to the top of the mountain and leave you there for a few hours. I imagine the view is pretty spectacular. Not a thing between you and the stars…nothing but air.” The prisoner gulped visibly. “Think about it…all that sky above you, miles and miles of it. We surfacers really take it for granted, but I bet you have a special appreciation for just how amazing it is.”

He swallowed. “There’s not much I can say,” he muttered, glancing about sourly. “I am not her confidante.”

“Anything is better than nothing. She’s a drow too, I take it?”

“Of course! What drow would willingly serve any other?”

“It happens.” Maera shrugged. “So now that we're such good friends...let's chat.”

* * *

 

The drow looked almost peaceful, curled up on his side against a tree trunk, snoring softly every other breath. When Maera felt she had reached the end of his information, Jaheira had force fed him a dose of her strongest sleeping potion and dumped him off to the side while they planned.

“We're going to have to draw her out,” Maera said tiredly, leaning against Kelsey's side. “Even if he was exaggerating her numbers, and I'm sure he was at least a little, I don't like the idea of a blind fight on someone else's turf.”

“How do you propose we do that?” Jaheira asked.

“She's expecting us, so if there's suddenly a lot of noise and bother at the top of the valley, she'll investigate. But she's a drow, and they never play a short game, so she'll be cautious. _She_ won't stir outside the safety of her walls, but she'll have no compunctions about sending off some of her force if she thinks she can deal with me without dirtying her hands.”

“Again, what do you propose?”

“You and Kelsey, Minsc and Sarevok, go to the top of the gorge, and be as obvious as you can. Try to pull whatever force she sends as far off as you can. Imoen and I will infiltrate her enclave and deal with her personally.”

“You're not serious!” Kelsey exclaimed. “Why just the two of you?”

Maera gave him a firm stare. “Firstly, this is my Boss Face. Second – we can move faster and quieter, and we'll have surprise on our side. And you have to admit there's a certain symmetry to it.”

“Indeed,” Sarevok murmured.

“Jaheira, you're in charge. I trust you to do what you have to to make this work.”

“As you should.”

“Then you four should get moving.”

Kelsey helped her stand and pulled her close as she regained her feet. “Please be careful,” he whispered. “Not just for my sake, but...”

“I can handle this, Kelsey. I have to,” she replied. She forestalled further argument by angling his head down a few degrees to kiss his forehead. “You be careful, too.”

“Always. I've got you to come back to.”

* * *

 

An hour or so before daybreak, Imoen spotted a troop of drow moving up the valley. Leaving their prisoner still sleeping under the tree, the sisters picked their way carefully through the rough pines down to the cottage. It was empty, and the lone guard still stationed on the other side of the back door that led down into the caves did not have time to shout before Maera clubbed him with her sword hilt.

The natural cave system had been carved out and shaped to widen hallways and form rooms; it was not luxurious, but it was certainly functional. “Do you think she’s got the support of a House?” Maera asked as they peered around a corner. “Or has she struck out on her own here?”

“Haven’t seen any House insignias,” Imoen said, her eyes glazed and distant. Maera realized she was in the midst of a farseeing spell. “But then, I’m not exactly up on my drow heraldry.”

“It’s a big deal to do this kind of thing on your own for a drow; I almost respect that.”

“Yeah, except for the whole evil thing.”

“Should we really be assuming that she’s evil? Isn’t that like what Jamis Tombelthen did with us? I mean, look at Solaufein.”

“Who doesn’t have his own personal army or super secret mountain cave lair, last time I checked.” Imoen screwed her eyes shut, and when she opened them, they were normal again. “But if it really bothers you, we can ask her about it when we find her. And speaking of, there’s a mages’ lab up ahead on the left. A wizard and his quasit are running an experiment. Across the hall, there are four men-at-arms in their barracks.”

“You take the mage. I’ll handle the others.”

At the first volley of magic between Imoen and the startled wizard, the barracks door opened and a head popped out. Maera grabbed the fighter by the scruff of the neck and smashed him into the opposite wall face first. The next grabbed the nearest weapon, but she grabbed his wrist as the sword descended, kneed him hard in the groin and shoved him back into the way of his oncoming comrades. Drow armorers really needed to improve their codpiece design. She dropped the third with a well-placed slash across the midsection, and the fourth fell as an arrow of pure fire zipped past her to lodge in his chest. “We’re clear through the next tunnel junction,” Imoen reported. “Let’s go.”

They were spotted a short distance past the junction by a guard with two oversized spiders at his heel, which he set on them with a barked command. As she stabbed at the mandibles of the first, Maera said, “I just keep thinking about that conversation with the solar. About opposition. Just because the default moral position for Bhaalspawn seems to be pretty thoroughly rotten, I feel like you and I _can’t_ be the only ones on the other side of the fence.” The spider handler rushed her; she parried him easily and ducked beneath his next swing. “But maybe I’m just the optimist who wishes she wasn’t the minority. It’s disheartening, you know?”

Imoen finished her incantation, spreading her hands and letting her lightening arc through the surviving spider and wounded handler. “Well, Bhaal was the Lord of _Murder_ , after all. The voices, the visions…he’s not exactly subtle. But the way I see it, you’re too stubborn to be evil, and if I was, we couldn’t be friends anymore.”

They rounded a corner, stealing up the sides of a wide corridor when they heard an angry female voice in the distance. “I don’t care!” the speaker snarled. “You know they’re here; why aren’t they dead yet?!” Maera and Imoen crept closer as a male voice stuttered apologies. “Don’t you see we were gulled?” the woman cut him off imperiously. “There’s only one way to set this right. Find them, kill them, and bring me their heads!” The door ahead of them opened and a harried looking male drow in ornate armor exited. His eyes widened as his sensitive vision spotted them in the shadows; Imoen chanted a hasty spell, striking him with a blast of cold. Maera took advantage of his disorientation and her height advantage to step behind him, wrapping an arm around his neck and pressing down on his windpipe. His struggles grew weaker until he sagged in unconsciousness, and she lay him down in the floor, nodding towards the door. They had found who they were looking for.

Sendai did not immediately turn when they opened the door. “I already told you, I – “ She looked over her shoulder and raised a snowy eyebrow. “Well. Egeissag was even more useless than I thought. I should have sent him out to chase your diversion instead of Diaytha. Males really are only good for one thing.” The drow faced them, her dark face expressionless. She was scarcely taller than Imoen, and her chainmail was intricately made, with blackened rings forming a pattern against the silvery steel. She folded her hands. “I admit, I was hoping you would deal with the others before we came to this. Save me for last. The daughters of Bhaal, at war for their birthright – it would be very poetic. And let us be honest, the sons have been every bit as pathetic as one would expect.” She pursed her mouth ruefully. “Though Illasera didn’t fare all that well either…”

Maera cocked her head. “Illasera? She was one of the Five?”

“You didn’t know?” If Sendai’s surprise was not genuine, she was a very good actress.

“Then there’s only one left,” Imoen murmured.

Cunning lit Sendai’s red eyes. “And you don’t know who it is, do you?”

“Is it Melissan?” It couldn’t hurt to try, Maera thought. Even a shot in the dark struck occasionally.

Sendai laughed, a disarmingly rich and lovely sound. “She wishes she were. She thinks she’s quite the puppetmaster, but she’s far too obvious at pulling the strings. The true master of the art is never seen but always felt.” She drew her sword. “But in all honesty, you do puzzle me. The motives of the others are so transparent, but you…you’re different. Almost as if by design.”

Maera wrapped both hands around Daystar’s hilt and dropped the blade into a low guard with a shrug. Behind her, Imoen murmured her shielding spell. “You’re closer than you think.” Imoen’s shield popped up around them, and Maera raised her sword suddenly to attack high, but Sendai was not fooled and blocked easily. She struggled not to grin as their blades met again. This was what she lived for – not the easy kill, but a real test of ability against a skilled opponent. She almost wanted to call Imoen off, but logic told her that would be foolish. As it was, Sendai seemed to have little enough trouble handling the two of them; her armor (and likely other, less visible trinkets) soaked up an impressive amount of Imoen’s magic, and she was light on her feet, appearing to almost flow out of the path of arrows, but she was always there to meet Maera’s sword. She smiled over their crossed blades, and Maera felt a twinge that sharply resembled remorse. They could never be friends, but maybe, in some other life, there could have been something noble in their opposition. But here they were just players, acting out parts.

_How you choose to act it is, of course, entirely up to you._

A small motion of her off hand, twisting a ring on the other, and suddenly, Sendai was behind Imoen, who bounded to the side, regaining her feet with catlike ease. Maera let herself grin at that as she rushed the drow. “Dirty trick, Sendai,” she chided.

“And two on one is fair?” Sendai laughed again, with an overhead feint. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that combat,” she twisted the ring again, “is all about advantage.”

Imoen saw her first, and this time, her arrow struck; it wedged at an odd angle in the seam between chest and sleeve. Sendai yanked it away with a growl. The tip of the arrowhead was bloody. “Life is about advantage, Sendai,” Maera replied, stretching to block the drow’s slash at Imoen. “How we use those advantages makes us who we are.”

This brought a thin smile to Sendai’s lips. “I’d heard you fancy yourself intellectual.” A shower of ice, fine and sharp as needles, slammed into her back, worming through the links of her armor, and she hissed with pain.

“I fancy myself tired of listening to you yap,” Imoen declared.

“I’ll deal with you shortly, little flunky,” Sendai snapped, the façade of good humor gone. She pressed her attack on Maera, and they circled one another, swords ringing. The dance grew closer, tighter, and angrier. Imoen, eyes narrowed, saw her chance, and clamped a hand to the back of the drow’s neck in the space between her armor and hairline, atoning a single phrase. Sendai jerked and convulsed as the electricity sparked before crumpling to the floor in a heap.

Maera reached over her prone form to grab her sister into a hug. “I don’t tell you often enough how lucky I am to have you,” she said gruffly.

Imoen beamed, then gave her a critical once over. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I think she and I would have worn ourselves out long before either of us managed to land a blow. She was good. Really good. It’s a shame that-” She patted Imoen’s shoulder. “Well, we should get out while the getting is good.”

There was a whispering sound at their feet, and they stared as Sendai slowly rolled herself onto her back, her lips moving. Maera dropped to one knee beside her, and caught a fragment of a word. “…thasar…”

Maera’s mind whirred, and she felt the distinctive click that always accompanied understanding. “Balthasar?”

The drow’s head moved in a loose sort of nod. “Last one…”

“He’s the last of the Five? Illasera, Yaga-Shura, Abazigal, you, and…Balthasar?” Maera and Imoen exchanged a look. “That actually explains a lot.” She looked back down at Sendai. “Why tell me this?”

“Don’t owe him…owe him anything,” Sendai wheezed. “Fairly won…” Her eyes suddenly focused hard, her hand grabbing Maera’s wrist with a viselike grip. “What are you?”

Maera carefully loosened Sendai’s fingers, and as the drow breathed her last, murmured, “The stone in the river of blood.”


	34. Brother Balthazar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Are you not tired of it? The dreams, the voices, the blood on your hands?”_

Jaheira and the others had led the drow on such a merry chase they were halfway to Tethyr by midmorning, and never even noticed that the adventurers they were chasing had doubled back. Returning to the valley, they found Maera and Imoen taking their ease near the entrance to Sendai’s enclave.

“Sendai?” the druid asked as the two young women rose and dusted themselves off.

“Dealt with,” Maera said shortly. “And we need to get back to Amkethran. Balthazar and I need to have a talk.”

“The monk?” Sarevok’s eyebrows rose.

“That’s the one.” She turned to collect her pack, aware that everyone was watching her expectantly.

“He’s the last one, isn’t he?” Kelsey asked softly.

“Yeah. Yeah, he is.” She shouldered her pack and smiled tightly. “We should get going.”

\--

They found the Amkethran road by midday, and that evening, made camp at an abandoned shepherd’s croft. After eating and assigning the watch, Maera and Kelsey disappeared into the woods, hand in hand. “Where do they think they’re going?” Sarevok grunted.

“Oh my gods,” Imoen sighed, without looking up from her spellbook. “Sarevok, if I have to explain to you what they’re doing, a part of me will die.” The warrior rolled his eyes and grumpily sought his typical solitude outside the range of the firelight.

“It is very impolite for him to ask such things,” Minsc noted, feeding Boo from his cupped hand.

“Definitely none of his business,” Imoen said. “Isn’t that right, little fuzzy?” she cooed, scratching the hamster’s head.

Minsc shook his head as if to say _Some people_ , but then his broad, honest forehead crinkled in intense thought. “Everything was so much easier before,” he said plaintively. “Even when we did not know his name, we knew Sarevok was the villain. Now he fights beside us, and every time we think we find the villain, there is another one still! Boo is trying to keep it straight for me, but it is giving us both a headache.”

Imoen closed her spellbook and leaned her head against the ranger’s bicep. “I guess the real villain in all this is Bhaal himself.”

“But how do we kick the butt of a dead god?”

“We’ll figure something out, Minsc. We always do.”

A few dozen paces away, under the branches of the scrub evergreens, Jaheira tried to meditate, but the voices of her worried children could not be shut out. She sighed and pulled her cloak closer. She had first watch anyway, so she might as well begin it now. She could not shake a rushing sense of inevitability. Events were converging on an unknown point very close at hand, and somehow, the lynchpin of this entire cosmic scheme was a temperamental, headstrong, mouthy girl who had not even passed her first quarter century. “Imoen,” she heard Minsc ask quietly, “what about Maera?”

“What about her, big guy?”

“What is it that she is supposed to do?”

“I think she’s just supposed to be herself.” Imoen’s voice grew soft. “At least I hope that’s all.”

* * *

 

Deeper in the woods, there was a rushing stream that poured over broken pine boughs into a dark pool. Near it, where the ground was soft but not muddy, a blanket had been laid, and on that, half-dressed and only marginally covered by his discarded robe, sprawled Maera and Kelsey. “I hadn’t given much thought to it, honestly,” she said. “All the…stuff just seems kind of excessive. But it’s not like I really have any personal experience with it.”

“I’ve never been married before either,” Kelsey pointed out.

She poked him in the ribs. “I didn’t mean like that. I mean I don’t know that much about weddings other than what I’ve read.”

“So you never even been to one?” She shook her head, and he chuckled. “I guess they wouldn’t have a lot of weddings in Candlekeep though, would they?”

“It’s not that the Readers weren’t allowed to get married, they just…tend to have different priorities.” She propped herself up on an elbow. “So what do you want to do?”

“I’m not supposed to have any opinions. I’m just the groom.”

She poked him again. “That’s stupid and you know it.” He grinned at her.

“You are amazing. Dismissing hundreds of years of tradition with a simple ‘That’s stupid’.”

“Well, it is.” She aimed her next poke for his sternum. “So…c’mon. Let’s hear it.”

“Ow.” He rubbed his chest, making a face at her, then sighed. “Honestly, it’s not really the wedding itself I’ve been thinking about. What I really want, when all this is said and done is to go back to my mother’s house and…try to fix things. I was so angry with her after Father died, but I understand now. How much it must have hurt to lose him. But I was just a stupid kid who thought my own pain was the most important thing in the multiverse. I know better now, and…” He touched Maera’s cheek. “I really want her to know my wife.” He took a deep breath and added, “And her grandchild.” He gave his head a quick shake. “I think my brain exploded a little just saying that.”

Maera smiled with nervous empathy. “Don’t feel bad. Mine’s been doing that on an hourly basis ever since I found out.” She covered his hand with hers. “That sounds like a good plan, Kelsey. I’d like that.”

“I know it’s not much a _wedding_ plan, but…Hells, maybe while we’re there, I can pry my leech of an uncle off her life finally. I know Kelvim’s been trying. Maybe between the two of us, we can finally make it stick. We can punt him into the Deepwash or something.”

“Weddings nothing,” she said, eyes bright, “ _that_ sounds like fun.”

He laughed and pulled her close. “I’m marrying a woman more interested in kicking around my worthless uncle than she is in her dress.”

“Hey, you proposed.”

“I did. And I do not regret it for a second.”

She tucked her face against the side of his neck, tightening her arms around him. “It’s nice to make plans,” she said softly. “It’s been really tempting lately not to think about the future, for fear it won’t happen.” Kelsey swallowed and hugged her harder. “It used to be enough to fight just because I could. But I guess I’m getting older, because I need a better reason now. And the chance to have a future with you is the best reason in the world.”

He shifted, the better to look her in the eye, and his hands moved up to catch in her hair. A soft, wondering smile touched his lips. “My warrior woman,” he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers. “I am with you. To the very end. No matter what that is.”

* * *

 

They returned to Amkethran under the silent, watchful eyes of its citizens. The mercenaries were still out in force; if anything, there seemed to be more crowding the streets now. But they gave Maera and her party wide berth, obviously remembering previous encounters. And there were none to be found in the inn, to the palpable relief of the innkeeper. “Good customers last time, and anyone who gives that lot pause is fine by me,” he said as he made change for them.

“Why _did_ the monks hire mercenaries?” Maera asked. “Couldn’t they protect you on their own?”

“They say it is to keep us safe from the Bhaalspawn.” The innkeeper chuckled bitterly. “Yes, we are so safe we can barely move.”

“It wasn’t always like this, was it?”

“I have lived in the shadow of that monastery all my life, as did my father and grandfather before me. Always, the masters and mistresses of the order have been kind and wise and kept the best interests of Amkethran in their hearts. At first, it seemed Balthazar would be no different. But something has changed in him.” He sighed with a regretful shake of his head. “Or perhaps it was never there to begin with.”

“Considering what I know of him,” Maera murmured thoughtfully, “it could go either way.”

That evening, Jaheira found Maera standing outside the inn, staring up at the bulk of Balthazar’s monastery in the gathering desert twilight. “You should eat,” she told the younger woman. “Tomorrow will be eventful.”

“I’m aware of that,” Maera replied, her eyes fixed.

Jaheira pursed her lips in annoyance. She was not in the mood for this. She skipped the banter and threw down her trump. “You will worry Kelsey.”

That at least got her a look, even if it was one of irritation. “Low blow, Jaheira.”

Jaheira shrugged. “Can you blame him? It’s his child as well.”

“I’m aware of that, too,” Maera said tartly, playing absently with the ring on her finger. She sighed. “I’ll come in and eat in a minute, I promise. I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Share it, then.”

Maera smiled inwardly. That was Jaheira – direct as a blow to the head and just as subtle. “It’s… this. This whole thing. Hunting down these people and killing them before they can do the same to us. It doesn’t feel like I’m winning anything other another day alive. And they’re my siblings…in a way. I mean, I’ve never expected family bonding, followed by tea and cakes, but just once, it’d be nice to meet another Bhaalspawn that didn’t either flee from me in terror or try to gut me at their first opportunity. And the worst part is, we’re doing exactly what Bhaal wanted. We’re killing each other off. I have no idea how many Bhaalspawn there were, but now there are three – me, Im,” she jerked her chin towards the monastery, “and Balthazar. And tomorrow we go to kill him. And despite it all, it feels so wrong. Like it shouldn’t have come to this. Like I should have found another way. I…I can’t explain it any better than that.” She stared at the ground. “And what happens when it is just me and Im?”

Jaheira put her hand on her young friend’s shoulder. “You cannot hold yourself responsible for what the others of your lineage have chosen to do. Their choices have been their own, just as yours have. Wasting your regret on them achieves nothing, nor does wallowing in guilt for the things you cannot change. Resolve that this will end with you, and when it does, be satisfied with that. I am no prophet, Maera. I cannot tell you what the future holds. But I do trust you. As I always have.”

There was a long silence, then Maera reached up and squeezed Jaheira’s hand, saying, “What would I do without you, Jaheira?”

“Let us hope we never find out.”

Maera was quiet again. Her eyes returned to her boots as she said, “Speaking of - sort of… There was something I wanted to ask you. Well, Kelsey and I.” The druid raised her eyebrows, her expression encouragingly continuance. “We were wondering if you would marry us.”

Her eyebrows remained elevated. “I had no idea you were interested in that sort of arrangement.”

One of the humorous side effects of infravision was the appearance of a blushing face in the near darkness, particularly one as vivid as Maera’s. She stammered for a moment until she managed, “You are not funny!”

“We will have to disagree,” Jaheira said with a shrug. Maera stuck her tongue out, and Jaheira let her poker face ease and said, smiling gently, “I would honored to preside over your wedding.”

Maera smiled an anxious, brilliant smile, and dove ahead. “And there was something else. You know the house he bought us?” Jaheira nodded slowly. “Well, apparently it’s out in the country a ways, and on about fifteen acres of land, and I’ll admit that I don’t know the first thing about gardening, or landscaping, or anything like that. I think that what would matter more to me to know that the place I lived was under the care and protection of a druid.” Maera carefully took Jaheira’s hands in her own. “You’ve been through so much with me. Because of me. But you’ve always been there. You deserve a home, and a family. And I…we want to give you that.”

Jaheira tilted her head, studying Maera’s features. Time could move so quickly. So much could happen in a single year that in just a few, a nervous, rough-edged girl with nothing but determination and raw talent could become a woman of confidence, skill, and unbelievable fortitude. She had come so far, so fast. “Before I ever met you, I promised Gorion I would look out for you, if you needed me.”

“You have. And I still do.”

“No.” Jaheira shook her head. “You have not truly needed me for some time. But I have needed you.” Maera’s brow furrowed. “When Irenicus…took Khalid, it was you that gave me reason to persevere.” She withdrew one of her hands to brush her fingers over her young friend’s cheek. “It is for love of you that I have endured. So yes. I will go with you to Berdusk.” She smiled. “Besides, you did not think I would allow for your child to be delivered by some anonymous country midwife, did you?”

* * *

 

Maera sat at a corner table with Kelsey, picking at her dinner, and they were too absorbed in their own private universe to notice Sarevok’s eyes on them from across the common room. Imoen did, however, and diverted her course from the bar with the next round for herself and Minsc to give him a hard look. “You know, Sarevok, even I know staring is rude.”

Sarevok shot her a glance, and sneered. “Your grasp of etiquette is an inspiration to me.” Imoen rolled her eyes and was on the point of walking away when he continued. “He does not deserve her.”

Imoen turned back, set the mugs on the table, and cocked her head. “You have really got a bug up your butt about that, haven’t you? She is over the moon for that guy. You really think some glaring and sarcasm is going to make her change her mind?”

“Then you approve?”

“Maera’s a big girl. She doesn’t need my approval. But since you asked, yeah, I do. He’s a nice guy, he adores her, and he’s a funny drunk. Pretty much meets all my brother-in-law criteria. I mean, sure, they’re disgusting, the way they can’t keep their hands off each other. You’d think sex was going out of style or something. But they’re happy.” He glowered, and she was about to scoop up the drinks again when something seemed to occur to her. “Is she not allowed to be happy? Is she too special for it or something? Here stands Maera of Candlekeep, Bhaalspawn and all around kicker of tush: Too awesome for piddley human emotion. Is that it?”

His expression was cold. “You would not possibly understand.”

“I’m smarter than I act. Try me.”

Sarevok gritted his teeth as if she were trying to pull one out. “Regardless of his power as a sorcerer, he will never understand what it is like to be Bhaalspawn, especially one as strong as she. He cannot truly know her.”

“And you can?”

“My life and hers have been connected since her birth. Even before I knew her name or face, I knew _her_.”

To his surprise, she plopped down in the chair across from him, shrugging dismissively. “So did I.”

There was something surprisingly akin to curiosity in his eyes. “Does it bother you? Being constantly in her shadow, pulled along in her wake? You are Bhaalspawn too, yet the Solar has no messages for Imoen.”

She stared down at the table, and began tracing the wood grain with her fingertip. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “Hiding in shadows is what I do. I’ve always been in hers; I like it there. Safest place in the world to be. And I’m not all that fond of the nastier side effects of being a Bhaalspawn, so if the Solar wants to ignore me, that’s fine by me. But… it’s just so unfair to Maera. It’s all coming down on her. Everyone’s so focused on her and what she does sometimes I feel like standing on a chair, waving my arms and yelling ’Hey, I’m a Bhaalspawn too!’ just so they’ll leave her alone for five seconds. Just so she won’t have to bear the weight of the world all alone.” She glanced over at her sister’s table. Maera was smiling in reaction to something Kelsey had said and he gently kissed her temple. Imoen found herself smiling, looking at them. “I guess that’s why I like her being with Kelsey. He seems to feel the same way.” When she looked back, she saw Sarevok studying her intently. She flushed. “What, have I got something on my face?”

“You intrigue me, little sister. You genuinely seek nothing from our heritage. Your life revolves around her and you truly do not care.”

She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Yeah, well, she’s my best friend, and I love her. Whatever she does is going to be the best thing for the both of us, so I just follow her lead. She hasn’t steered me wrong yet.” She shot him a challenging stare. “As weird as this feels to say, I get it, Sarevok. I understand what it feels like to not be able to explain _why_ she matters so much.” She shrugged. “Mae’s the most important person in my life. Always has been. That’s just the way it is.”

“But,” Saverok said shrewdly, “you are no longer the most important person in hers.”

She raised an eyebrow, and he realized too late she was already ahead of him. “So that’s where you are, huh?” She leaned over the table conspiratorially. “Just don’t give Red an excuse. You saw what he did to that dragon, and you know what they say about the nice ones.”

“I think I preferred you when you were an irritating child,” he huffed, but the bluster felt weak.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t recommend to the Jon Irenicus day spa to anyone, but the personal growth was an unexpectedly positive side effect.” She rubbed absently at the scar that bisected her eyebrow. “The facials were crap, though.” She stood, picked up her mugs, and turned.

“She has given me much to think about. Much on which to reflect. I turn these thoughts over in my mind again and again and yet I am no closer to understanding,” Sarevok said, almost to himself. “I thought once that either her death or mine was the natural end of our peculiar relationship. I was wrong.” He could see the cutting remark hovering on Imoen’s lips, but to his surprise, she simply smiled at him, and walked away. Sarevok watched her return to her table, hand Minsc his mug, and rub his head by way of apology for the detour. He glanced at the little mage, then back at Maera. At the last of the Bhaalspawn. He had never thought that when the time came for the end, he would be on the outside looking in.

His gaze returned to his drink, but from the corner of his eye, he could still see her. The sorcerer was pulling her up from her chair; she lost her footing for a split second and pitched forward into his arms with a laugh. They remained thus for a moment, her lips curved with contentment, and he found his mind drifting back to the all-too brief time in his own life when happiness had not been an alien concept. Such strange thoughts. Once his life had made so much sense. He had had a purpose. A destiny. Who was he without them?

“Gods, I hate being mortal,” he muttered.

* * *

 

Morning light filtered through the shutters as Maera stared at herself in the dim, wavy mirror. Funny. She didn’t look as old and tired as she felt. She could almost physically feel the press of time, pushing her forward, hurrying her towards the end. A wave of nausea washed over her, and she closed her eyes, trying to will away the desperate desire to empty her stomach. Morning sickness? Really? This was new. When she looked back at the mirror, she caught sight of herself. She was gripping her abdomen with her left hand. The ring on her finger. The hand on her stomach. There had always been more that stake that just her own life, but somehow, this felt so much more tangible. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. The nausea passed. Maybe it was just nerves, then. “Well, I don’t have time for that,” she murmured to herself, “Balthazar’s waiting.” She knew he was, just as certainly as she knew she was breathing.

The streets of Amkethran were silent as they trooped towards the monastery. The young monks standing guard at the gate looked a bit green about the gills themselves. They knew. Everyone knew. The impending confrontation hovered in the air like the dust, threatening to choke them all. They let them pass without a word, and Maera didn’t have to ask where Balthazar was. She already knew.

He sat on raised dais in the center of the great hall, watching their approach with an unreadable expression. He stood as they drew near. “Maera,” he said softly.

She inclined her head. “Balthazar. So, pleasantries first, or shall we just get on with it?”

He looked at her, and there was a blankness in his eyes that chilled her. There had been disdain in Illasera’s, rage in Yaga-Shura’s, arrogance in Abazigal’s, fire in Sendai’s, but Balthazar’s were empty, as if emotion itself was too much effort. “You must know I take no pleasure in this.”

He wasn’t tall; even standing on his dais, she barely had to lift her head to look him in the eye. And he was slim, a fact his loose robes could not conceal. She stared into his dark gray eyes, wondering what he saw in hers. “That puts you one up on a lot of people I’ve met lately.”

“And you?”

“Do I look like I’m enjoying myself?”

“I couldn’t say. I find you…difficult to read.”

She chuckled bleakly at that. “I could say the same to you.”

“Then do you understand why I must do this? Why I must see your evil destroyed?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me. My _evil_? Where have you been?”

He stiffened. “It is true you have dispatched our demonstratively unpleasant siblings, but that ultimately means very little, as they would have wasted no time doing so for themselves. The taint of Bhaal is in us, and that is evil of the purest sort. Regardless of our actions, or even our motivations, we cannot be separated from it. We are damned, and that fact cannot be escaped.”

There was a long, empty silence. She hadn’t been expecting this. “I don’t believe that,” she said flatly.

“You can still say that after Saradush?”

Her jaw tightened. “Oh, screw you, Balthazar,” she spat. “I blame myself enough for what happened there. For the people I couldn’t save. I will not let someone else do it too!” Her voice cracked with a surpassed sob, and she gulped a deep breath, watching his impassive face. Was that self-loathing she saw in the faint turn of his lips? “Motivation and action have to mean something, Balthazar. We can’t judge someone’s actions without knowing the why.”

“Reassuring ourselves that the terrible things we do are in good cause serves only to balm our own consciences. Believe me, I know.”

Maera could feel the collective gaze of both his monks and her party boring into her back. The tension was so thick she could barely breathe. “So why do this? Why join the Five? Why not stand up to them?” She let the words _The way I have_ go unspoken, but she knew he could hear them.

“As I said, we are damned,” he said quietly. “Our only hope is to die before our bloodlust overwhelms us.”

Even she spoke, Maera busily filed away the revelations, assessing the monk in a new light. “We are still creatures of will. Just because most of them chose the path Bhaal wanted them to take doesn’t mean we have to now.”

“So you think me a fool,” he murmured. “And weak willed to boot.”

She shrugged. “Sounds to me like that’s what you think of yourself. “

“You would analyze me, then?”

“Could be fun. Want to?”

His lips turned again, but this time, the expression might have been, for the most fleeting of instances, a smile. Then he slumped back into his seat, never taking his eyes off her. “What I want,” Balthazar said, breaking his silence, “is immaterial. It is my sacred duty to bring about the end of Bhaal’s evil in the Realms. I will utterly destroy every trace of his taint. Including you. Including myself. That is my resolve, Maera.”

She studied him for a moment, her head tilted. “That was why you joined the Five. You would wait until they’d torn each other to pieces, and then you’d face the last one.” He nodded. “And then you’d kill yourself?”

“And Bhaal dies forever with me.”

“That’s a really stupid plan.” All around the room, the monks stiffened, and Balthazar looked almost irritated for an instant. “I’m sorry, but there has to be another way. Suicide is a very grand gesture, but in the end, you’d just be letting Bhaal commit one more murder.”

He peered at her, looking almost bewildered. With a small shake of his head, it was gone, the implacable façade returned. “You were raised in the great library of Candlekeep. I understand you are quite well-read. Surely you are not ignorant of the concept of sacrificing one’s self for the greater good.”

“I’m very familiar with it, actually. The man who raised me in that library lay down his life so I could be standing here right now.” There was a small huffing noise behind her; Sarevok cleared his throat and looked askance. Maera didn’t bother paying him any mind. All her attention remained with Balthazar. “You know what I think? I think you’re scared. I think that, at this point, dying doesn’t seem so bad. That it might even be easier than living. Am I right?”

“I am not afraid of death,” he whispered.

“But to get there, you have to go through me, don’t you?” Without ever taking her eyes from his, she slowly lowered her hand to her belt knife, working it from its sheath. There was a hiss of indrawn breath from the monks, but Balthazar did not move. She reversed the dagger, taking it by the blade, offering him the hilt. “I’ll make it easy on you. Kill me, and you’re one step closer to getting what you want.” Behind her, another gasp, this time from her horrified companions. But still she did not look away from Balthazar, and his wide eyes, fixed on the knife in her hand.

“I will not murder you.” His voice was so soft she could barely hear him.

“Why not? If we’re damned, what does it matter? By that logic, you’d be doing me a favor.” His hand stretched out, fingers opening towards the hilt, brushing the pommel, and then his head moved in a tiny motion of denial.

“Not like this.”

“No,” she agreed quietly. “Not like this.” His shoulders drooped, and suddenly, she could see the exhaustion in every line of his face.

“Are you not tired of it?” he asked, his voice catching. “The dreams, the voices, the blood on your hands?”

Her heart clutched in sympathy. She knew that weariness, the fatigue of the spirit that made the beating of one’s heart feel like an effort. She laughed weakly. “Oh, Balthazar. I’m so sick of it I’m ready to do just about anything to make it stop.” He closed his eyes, and to her surprise, her instinct was to put her arms around him. He looked back at her.

“Do you think you can?”

“I think I have to.”

Their eyes held, and he drew in a small, shuddering breath before drawing himself up. “There is a question you hope I can answer for you, yet you have not asked it. Why?”

“What question would that be?”

“Melissan.”

“Oh. Right. Her.” Maera shot him an expectant look. “She does seem to be everywhere and nowhere at all. Sendai said she was a puppetmaster. What do you think she meant by that?”

“I would assume that to be a reference to Melissan’s role in the creation of the Five.” The center of the puzzle fell into place; not one piece, but a whole collection of them, fitting neatly into the scant border Maera had spent so long putting together. He regarded her for a long moment. “This surprises you, and yet it does not.”

She nodded distractedly. “It makes perfect sense.”

“She came to me last spring. She told me she knew who and what I was, that she knew of others like me, and that she could…help us help ourselves, as she put it.” The bitterness returned to his face. “I thought that if I could not…ignore it, perhaps I was meant instead to be the instrument of its ending.” His voice lowered. “I did not think so much innocent blood would be shed along the way. But by the time it had begun, it was already too late to stop it.”

The tinge of misery in his voice brought her back to reality. “She used us.” Anger, her old friend, warmed her from within, chasing away the chill of horror. “She used us all. Every last one of us. That _bitch_.” She looked back at Balthazar, whose eyes were still downcast. “She played us against each other for her own gain. She _used_ us!” She shot him a quizzical glance. “Doesn’t that piss you off even a little?” He did not react. “Okay, try this one. Bhaal, in his infinite arrogance, brought us into this world for the sole purpose of bringing him back to life, never once thinking of what that meant for living, breathing creatures with minds of their own!” His face remained still and she shrugged. “Well, fine, because honestly, I’ve got enough pissed off for everyone in the room.”

He gave her another of his almost-smiles. “I see that.”

She took a step towards him. “Balthazar, we don’t have to do anything that anyone tells us to. We don’t have to play anyone’s game but our own.”

Silence again. “How can I trust you? Or myself? The Bhaal essence is so strong – how do we know it will not overwhelm us?"

“We can’t, really. But it’s amazing how far having a little faith in yourself will go.” She lowered her voice. “You feel it too, don’t you? Something’s coming. One way or another, this is ending very soon. Wouldn’t you rather it be on your own terms?”

Something flickered in his eyes, something that almost looked, for the briefest second, like hope. “Gods forgive me,” he whispered. “Perhaps if they do, I can as well.”

* * *

 

Balthazar offered them lodging in the monastery that night before figuring out what their next move would be in the morning. The gender segregation practiced by his order meant separate sleeping arrangements for male and female, and Maera and Kelsey were subjected to no small amount of ribbing from their party at having to bunk apart. They both stiffly pointed out they were adults who could manage to contain themselves for a night or two, but this assertion was met with good natured derision. Seeking escape from Imoen’s faux pity (“I can lend you my extra pillow if you need to snuggle, Mae”), Maera climbed to the flat roof of the great hall, and discovered Balthazar already there. He didn’t look surprised to see her.

“Do you also seek solitude in high places?” he asked.

“Sometimes. When I lived in Candlekeep, I could always count on finding a section of the battlements where I could be alone,” she replied, seating herself carefully on the tiles.

“I have often thought I should like to visit there. But I understand the entry rules are quite strict.”

“All you need is a very good book,” she said, gazing down at the courtyard where a small group of young monks practiced their way through a set of slow forms. “Did you grow up here?”

He nodded. “I was a foundling. The monks raised me, and when I reached manhood, I was offered the choice all such orphans are. I could stay and join the order, or strike out on my own. Obviously, I chose to remain.” His voice was soft. “I wanted no other life.”

Maera drew her knees up, and rested her elbows on them. “I know how that feels.” She gazed at him sidelong and asked, “When did you find out?”

“About being a Child of Bhaal?” Balthazar sighed and rubbed his bald head absently. “I was sixteen or so. I understand that the matter was one of fierce debate amongst the elder monks at the time – some did not want to tell me at all, some had never wanted to even offer me membership in the order. Ultimately, it did not matter. I was so horrified when they told me, I did something rather rash.” He pushed up the loose sleeve of his robe, revealing a long, knotted scar that traveled up the interior of his forearm. Maera whistled softly. “My master refused to let it be healed by magical means,” Balthazar continued quietly. “He thought it an object lesson in the sin of despair.”

“Did it work?”

“For a time. It was actually that revelation that led me to request membership in the order.” He snorted. “Request. I begged. I thought I would be safe here, and that others would be safe from me. There was order and consistency. A pattern and a sense of worth. And as I grew a little older, no risk of marriage or children.” Maera shifted her weight, but he wasn’t looking at her. “The taint within us…who would blight an innocent with that?”

She cleared her throat. “I would, apparently.” He turned a confused gaze to her, and she awkwardly scratched at her cheek. “I’m, um…I’m pregnant.” He stared at her, and she cleared her throat again. “Obviously not showing yet.” He continued to gape, his eyes round with horror. “Oh damn. Did I just break you?”

“You…you offered me your throat!”

“Yeah…I have a bad habit of gambling from time to time. Usually with my own life. I should probably stop that, shouldn’t I?”

He seemed to be recovering from his shock, though he was still having to blink a great deal. “Forgive the indelicate question, but…does the father know what you are?”

“Oh, he knows. He’s ever seen some of the nastier side effects.” Spellhold came back in a flash, and she pushed it, and the bile that rose in her throat at the memory, away with a hard swallow. “And he’s still here. But…he knows what it’s like to have the potential to be dangerous.” Balthazar looked confused again, and she elaborated, “He’s a sorcerer.”

“So then…the mage?” He was back to blinking. “Truly?” Maera made a small face.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” she muttered, ruffled.

“Well…” Balthazar looked ill at ease; such discussions were far from his comfort zone. Maera decided to have mercy.

“Because he doesn’t look like my type?” She sighed. “Everybody says that.” The monk coughed, and she smiled at him. “What I’m getting at is that there are people who understand what it’s like to be us. And that’s a pretty wonderful thing.”

“Then you do not fear bearing a child?”

“Of course I fear it! I’m having a baby; that’s the biggest responsibility in the world! But do I fear it because I’m a Bhaalspawn? No. How can something metaphysical be passed by physical heredity? We’re not cursed. We’re just…different. If we’re monsters, it’s because of what we do, not the fact that we exist.”

Balthazar regarded her silently. “That is…a unique perspective.”

“Other gods have had mortal children before. No one seems to mind when it’s one of the good ones. Why should we consider ourselves lepers because of Bhaal’s portfolio?” She leaned back, bracing herself with her hands and staring up at the sky. “Fearing things gives them power, and I don’t believe in that. It seems to me that a lot of people who think they’re cursed just use it as an excuse to avoid the things that frighten them. Like getting close to people.”

“Or facing their own frailties,” Balthazar murmured. Maera looked at him.

“Or that,” she agreed quietly. “But you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself."

“Why not? Look at what I have done. I have been complicit in the murder of thousands.”

“Melissan gave you a hard sell. She made you think you didn’t have any another options.”

“And I bought it. You wouldn’t have, I think.”

“Not everyone’s as stubborn as me. But…if our situations were reversed, I’m not sure I could say I would do differently. And I’d probably hate myself for it, just like you obviously do yourself.”

“You’re very forgiving,” he said. “Others will take a less generous view, I fear.”

“Maybe not. But I know where you’re coming from, remember?”

“It’s an unusual feeling. But I could get used to it.” They chuckled, but then his eyes swept towards the gate below. She gave him an enquiring glance and he murmured, “Trouble. You may come with me, if you wish.”

They regained solid ground as a female monk sprinted towards them. “Master! The mercenary captains! They want to speak with you.” She panted for a moment, her face marked with disapproval. “Their language was quite coarse.”

Balthazar’s face regained the smooth, inexpressiveness Maera had found so difficult to read. She laughed to herself. _That’s his Boss Face_ , she thought. “I will speak with them,” he said calmly. Maera trailed along curiously in his wake.

A trio of rough-looking humans and a half-elf of equally weathered appearance were waiting for them. One of them, a woman whose dark hair was cut bluntly around a face that might have reasonably attractive if not the deeply etched scowl, stepped forward and said bluntly, “What is this bullshit, Balthazar?”

Balthazar serenely folded his hands. “I assume the ‘bullshit’ you are referring to is the fact I terminated your contracts this afternoon, yes?” A grumbling growl served as their confirmation. “I do not see how I could make myself plainer. You have been paid through the end of the month, but the services of your companies are no longer required, so I would prefer that you make an expedient departure from Amkethran.”

“You can’t just kick us out of town like this!” the bearded half-elf snarled.

“He can do whatever he wants,” Maera interjected.

The half-elf rounded on her. “I don’t think I was talking to you.”

“You are now.”

He looked her up and down. “I’ve heard about you. I’ve heard you have a bad habit of getting your nose in other people’s business. Well, take my advice, and keep it to yourself, bitch.”

His word choice was unfortunate. She raised an eyebrow and wordlessly seized him by the back of the head, jerking his face downward even as her knee rose to meet it. She tossed him aside, and he staggered back, spitting obscenities and teeth, blood streaming freely from his nose. She turned to face the others, but saw quickly that Balthazar needed no aid.

He didn’t fight. He flowed. His hand moved, quicker than a serpent’s strike, finding his opponent’s throat with swift precision. He pivoted effortlessly on one foot, the other raised in a lashing kick almost too quick to be seen. Compared to the smooth ease of his movement, the captain he faced, nearly a foot taller and twice as broad, staggered about like a drunkard, and within the space of minute, the man found himself lying on his back, staring up at the sky in utter confusion “You have my answer,” Balthazar said, barely breathing heavily. “Now go. Or I will hurt you.”

Maera crossed her arms as the mercenaries captains fled. “That was excellent,” she said, grinning broadly. “We should spar some time.”


	35. Here Endth the Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He wanted to tell her everything, in case he never got another chance._

She dreamed that night of a throne of blood, set in the howling winds of an endless void. It was empty, and some instinct deep within her said that this was not as it should be. Plans had been made, and a course had been charted, but now something had gone terribly wrong. Someone had interfered, causing events that should have rushed towards their intended conclusion as smoothly as a stream of blood to twist and hurtle like a rapid.

“Everywhere I am crossed,” whispered the voice she knew, the voice she had heard for so long now. “Everyone seeks to thwart me. Even you. Even her.”

She had the sense of slowly approaching the great seat, and drawing near, she saw a hooded figure, a woman, standing before it. She was so still she might have been a statue, but then she turned her head to gaze over her shoulder at the dreamer.

As Melissan’s eyes met Maera’s, a welter of images and sensations struck her: the decades of planning and research, the lies so carefully cultivated. She had been their only friend, the only one who understood, the only shoulder they could lean on. With every slit throat she’d laughed that her former lord could have sired such gullible creatures. And now she stood at the base of the throne, the object of half a lifetime’s plans a breath away. Her lips curved in a cold, indulgent smile. “I was first among his priesthood,” she said. “And last. I watched him die. And in that moment, I knew I was destined for greater things than service. You may come to me if you wish, but you will be too late.” She turned her face back towards the empty throne of the Lord of Murder, the shadows of the Slayer licking about her like black flames. “Remain dust, foolish god.”

Maera’s eyes snapped open, and the moonlit ceiling of the monastery’s female dormitory came into focus. In the bed beside her, there was a rustle of bedding as Imoen jerked to wakefulness. “Im?” Maera whispered.

“Yeah?”

“You saw her too, didn’t you?” She heard, more than saw, Imoen’s nod, and sighed. She was now suddenly, almost unnaturally, awake. Rolling out of bed, she hunted about in her pack for a pair of leggings. Imoen seemed similarly disinclined for sleep; she was already wrapping herself in a robe, and together, they slipped out into the hallway. Before they had got a dozen paces, a soft whistle hailed them. Balthazar, bare-footed and carrying a lamp, had just rounded the corner behind them.

“I knew it wasn’t just me, but I had to be sure,” he said.

He led them across the great hall to his quarters, but as they passed the door leading to the men’s dormitories, it opened, revealing Sarevok’s tall, bulky frame. “Did you have a dream too?” Maera asked him, puzzled.

He shook his head. “But I knew that you did.”

“Oookay, this has just gone from weird to weirder,” Imoen said.

“Join us,” Balthazar said. “We need to talk.”

Balthazar’s quarters were unsurprisingly austere. They sat on soft cushions on the floor (Sarevok naturally chose to stand) while the monk made them all tea. Maera stared into her cup, but there weren’t enough leaves at the bottom to make it worth the effort. “We all had the same dream, didn’t we?” Imoen said, breaking the silence. “Melissan, in front of Bhaal’s throne.”

“She even told us she’d been a Bhaalite,” Maera murmured.

“It’s impressive, in a way. She never really lied to any of us,” Balthazar said, taking a long sip of his tea. “She just very carefully avoided telling certain truths.”

“No, she lied,” Imoen replied firmly. “She lied about the Bhaalspawn in Saradush. She said she tried to protect them.”

“Perhaps that was not even a lie,” Sarevok said. “For the sake of appearances, she may have put up a fight.”

“Well, she certainly wasn’t being truthful when she said she was sorry they were dead,” Maera said. “But that’s beside the point. I was wrong yesterday. I’d assumed she wanted to be the power behind the throne, but she doesn’t. She wants to be on it.”

“Set herself up as the new Lord of Murder,” Balthazar said quietly. “Or Lady, as the case may be.”

The Children of Bhaal, present and former, drank their tea in silence until Imoen again spoke. “Would this be over now? If not for her? I mean, we’re all that’s left, and we don’t want to kill each other, so…” She arched her eyebrows, first at Maera, then Balthazar. “We don’t, right?”

“Still feeling surprisingly non-murderous,” Maera assured her. Balthazar nodded, a faint smile marking his face. She got a the distinct feeling he was enjoying the camaraderie.

“I doubt it would be so simple.” Sarevok strode closer, refilled his cup, and to the astonishment of the others, topped off theirs as well. “This power was intended to be funneled into a single individual. Whether that would require anyone’s death at this stage I cannot say, but there is still one step left, either with Melissan’s interference or without.”

Maera set down her cup and laced her fingers together. “The solar said it was her task to teach me so I would be ready when the time came. I’m pretty sure this is the time she was talking about.” She took a deep breath. “We need to go back to the pocket plane.”

Imoen and Sarevok nodded. Balthazar looked perplexed. “Pocket plane?”

* * *

 

After the others had awakened later that morning and heard about the strange shared dream, they wasted no time preparing to leave. “It’s just a lil’ corner of the multiverse we like to call home,” Imoen said brightly as they were pulled into the plane, but Balthazar did not appear to hear her. He gazed around the central chamber in awe.

“What _is_ this place?” he asked in a hushed voice.

Maera scuffed a foot on the marble floor sheepishly. “I kinda…made it.”

He faced her, eyes round. “How?”

“Apparently it attached to me, or…me to it. I’m really not clear on the logistics of the whole thing.”

They all set about unloading their gear and making themselves comfortable when Balthazar gasped. The solar stood in the center of the room, radiant like the dawn, and he stared at her, transfixed.

“My gods,” he breathed. “I had no idea…”

The solar smiled at him gently. “And now you are here as well, my child.” Her burning eyes caught Maera’s. “You have come for your final lesson. But first tell me…what do you know of these events? What have you learned?”

“Melissan wants to become a god. She’s figured out a way to use the power of the other Bhaalspawn to do it.”

“Yes. She who was once known as Amelyssan the Blackhearted was the final priestess of Bhaal in his last days. With his death, she turned from him, and seeks now to raise herself up in his place.” The solar’s voice was sad. “Her interference is…a complication.

“Bhaal’s scheme to circumvent his death through his children did not go unnoticed amongst the gods. Your role, godchild, was to serve as a check against the unfettered horrors Bhaal hoped his Children would wreak. The intended outcome was that you, and any Child who allied with you, would face those who sought destruction and chaos. The matter would be ended there, in the victory of one over the other, and the gods would abide by it. But Amelyssan seeks usurp your birthright, and raise herself up in your stead.”

Maera furrowed her brow. “ _My_ stead?”

The solar blinked, a rare gesture that might have been surprise. “Yes, godchild. When all the essence of Bhaal is at your disposal, divinity will be easily within your grasp.” Maera stared at her, mouth agape. Out of the corner of her eye, Imoen saw Kelsey go white.

“B-but what about the others?” Maera stammered. “What about Imoen and Balthazar?”

The solar’s eyes moved to the monk; he seemed to make a conscious effort not to drop to his knees. “My child, she said, “do you, freely and without reservation, offer the power of Bhaal within you to your sister? Once made, this choice may never be revoked, and you will be bound to her, until such time as she makes her own choice regarding the final and ultimate disposition of Bhaal’s essence. What say you?”

“I do, absolutely,” he said immediately, rubbing his scarred forearm. “I have never wanted it.” He glanced at Maera. “She, I think, is the better steward. She certainly has the greater share of courage.” She shot him a small, touched smile.

“What about me?” Imoen asked.

The solar smiled again, more broadly. “You decided for your sister some time ago.” Imoen tilted her head in confusion, and the solar continued, “When last you were in your father’s realm, you spoke three words to a demon that answered the question I just posed to your brother.”

Comprehension lit her face. “She has me,” she murmured.

“Even so,” said the solar. “And here, godchild, would be in the end of it, if not for the deeds of Amelyssan. Having been granted the power of your living siblings, with that of the dead already in your hands, the fate of Bhaal’s essence would rest with you.”

 _Alaundo was talking about you, you know._ Maera nodded slowly as her mind made order of it all - the scraps of prophecy, the fragments of dreams, the rumors, hints, and leaps of logic. _A stone in the path of the river of blood._ Here at last it all made sense. _Resolve that this will end with you._ “But as long as Melissan controls a portion of that essence, it isn’t over.”

“You are equally matched.” The solar’s bright face grew urgent. “You must prevail over her, godchild. Should she attempt to assume divinity, there will be war in the planes, and more than just your mortal world will suffer.”

“Never low pressure with you people, is it?” Maera sighed.

The solar’s brilliant smile was almost mischievous, and then her face stilled to its familiar inscrutable calm. “Take your rest, and prepare yourselves, my children. Your time is almost at hand.” With that, she was gone, and Maera sank heavily onto the nearest sofa with a heavy sigh. She sank her face into her hands, steadying herself with a deep breath. When she looked up, her eyes cut about the room, then narrowed in confusion. “Where’s Kelsey?”

“He was just here,” Imoen said.

Maera stood and began to walk out of the circle of furnishings, biting her lip with concern. Sarevok caught her arm. “Sister, should we not speak of what the solar has told us?”

“Not now, Sarevok.”

“Maera…”

“Not now!” she flared, wrenching her arm away and stalking off.

Balthazar watched the exchange with some interest. He edged closer to the larger man, who stood glaring at the door Maera had just entered and shut. “If you will forgive the presumption,” he ventured, “I believe I understand your predicament.”

“Do you?” Sarevok did not look at him. “This should be enlightening.”

“Imoen and Maera love one another very much. Their bond is old, and very deep. I envy them that. For my part, though I have not known her long, Maera has earned my respect. She has given me hope, and that is a precious gift indeed. But you…” The monk fixed Sarevok with a calm and utterly inescapable stare, “you did not intend for this, did you? Your death at her hand bound you to her, just as our choices have.”

“All those years,” Sarevok whispered. “All those years, I sought her. And when I found her, we were locked in struggle, and it was _right_. But now… I no longer know my own mind. She has changed me, and I think I may prefer the man I have become, but I do not know him. Does she? I…” He cut himself off, scowling, realizing just how much he had said.

“You do not know how best to express this debt of obligation that you feel,” Balthazar said, his own voice dropped low. “And that is what angers you most of all, is it not? You have never been at a loss before.” Sarevok’s eyes blazed, but the fuse burned hot for only an instant before his shoulders slumped. Balthazar spoke gently, as if to a young novice. “Be her brother, Sarevok. That is what she needs now. From both of us. A brother in arms, as well as blood. Not all change comes with a flashing of light, carried on the voice of a solar. In time, you will know yourself, and you and our sister will find common ground.” Sarevok nodded once, and withdrew. Balthazar watched his broad, departing back for a moment, before turning to find a place to meditate.

* * *

 

Kelsey had retreated to the small bedchamber he and Maera shared, the implications of the solar’s words forcing his stomach into his feet. He sat on the bed, fingers knotted tight together, staring at the floor, seeing nothing. How could he have been such a fool? She was the daughter of a god, and half-divine beings didn’t just walk around living normal lives. How did the old stories go? The godchild sent to the mortal realm to fulfill a specific purpose, and when that was done, away they went. They never stayed. They never got to.

She’d never seen it that way, he knew. She downplayed it where she could, laughed it off when she couldn’t. But this was it. There was no more ignoring the truth. There were so many possibilities locked inside her; who was he to ask her to forsake that? She had been born, she had lived and grown, but she didn’t have to die. She could exist forever. The thought of spending the rest of his life with her, working through the thousand joys and vexations of everyday life by her side, was more appealing that any future he’d ever imagined. But what if it didn’t matter now? He was just one ordinary human, after all. What place could he have in the story of one who could be a goddess? He had said he would follow her anywhere, but if she was meant to walk a higher path in the planes, that was one place he could not go.

“Kelsey?” She stood in the doorway, outlined by the brighter light of the main chamber, her face shadowed, her voice troubled. “Why did you leave like that?”

She stepped closer, closing the door behind her, and he swallowed. Sometimes she seemed to be made of iron – the warrior, fierce and unafraid. The stuff of legends, as Minsc liked to say. He’d seen her calmly slash through a horde of vampires, spit defiance in the face of the man who’d stolen her soul, cut down giants without blinking, and generally live her life in open disobedience of the wishes of the god that had created her. But she was also the girl from Candlekeep, who’d cried on his shoulder, had bad dreams, and kissed like Sune herself. And from the moment he had first seen her, he’d found himself pulled to her by a force as natural as gravity, until somehow she had become the bright center of his universe. She tilted her head. “Kelsey…what’s wrong?”

He wanted to thank her for every moment they’d had since they met, wanted to tell her that he would not take back a second of it. He had thought at first, when he realized how thoroughly she had changed his life, that she had changed him as well, but he knew now that wasn’t true. By virtue of simply being herself, she had helped him become the person he had always had the potential to be. Did she have any idea how incredible that was?

She touched his cheek, worry brightening her eyes. “Are you okay?”

He was intensely aware of her warm hand against his skin, of her body scant inches from his. He threaded his fingers through her hair, hoping his hands didn’t shake. He wanted to tell her so much. He wanted to tell her everything, in case he never got another chance. But actions would have to stand in for the words he couldn’t seem to find. He kissed her, hoping that would say enough, and when their lips parted for a few seconds, he finally managed, “I just…I need you.” He pulled back just far enough to look her in the eye. “I always will.”

“And you’ve got me,” she whispered.

He kissed her again, his hands sliding down the line of her back as she leaned into him with a soft groan that sent a shock down his spine. Every sensation was amplified like a fever dream, and his desperation for her only increased with each passing second. It wasn’t enough. The rest of his life could never be enough, and if this was the last time… He tugged at the hem of her shirt and she stiffened briefly, pulling her hands away. For an instant, he was afraid he’d misread, but then she pulled back, yanking the offending article over her head, kissing him again the instant it was out of the way. And he was so intent on feeling her beneath his hands and lips that he almost missed that she was pulling at _his_ shirt until she had it nearly to his shoulders. He chuckled apologetically and lifted his arms, and she shot him a small, conspiratorial smile as she tossed the garment aside. And then she was back in his arms, body pressed to his, and nothing else mattered.

He wanted to say so much, but this was so much better than trying to explain how he felt with mere words.

* * *

 

They lay in a tangle of limbs and sheets, limp and sated. Maera let out a long breath. “Unexpected,” she announced, “but definitely appreciated.” She rubbed her cheek against his chest, and kissed him just below the collarbone, which earned her a soft mumble of pleasure. She planted a kiss on his chin near the corner of his mouth; his lips contorted trying to reach hers. She propped herself up on her folded arms, lips pursed. There was something about the set of his face that bothered her – he looked as if he were miles away. “Something’s on your mind, Kelsey. Talk to me, please.”

“I’m fine,” he said, moving his shoulders vaguely and leaning up to kiss her forehead. He smiled at her, but her expression didn’t change.

“That is probably the least convincing lie I have ever heard.”

He sighed, and ran his fingers through her tousled hair. She winced as he hit a tangle. “I’m trying really hard not to be selfish, but I’m not doing a very good job of it.”

“Selfish?”

“You’re a good person, so I think you’d make a very good goddess, if it came to that. You could help a lot of people…not to mention being infinitely powerful…and immortal. I would worry about that power coming from Bhaal, and what it would do to you. How it would change you. But ultimately…I don’t want to lose you. And I would.” His voice was steeped in quiet misery. “Even if you were the best, purest goddess in all the planes and Bhaal’s taint didn’t touch you even a little, I would still lose the woman I love. And all I want is to sell you on the idea that I’m better than eternity, and I know that’s selfish. You have a choice, and I can’t ask you to make it about me, even though I really, really want to.” He closed his eyes and exhaled hard. “Gods help me, Maera, I want _you_. I…I want our child. And I’m scared.”

Maera pulled herself up, one arm on either side of his head, and stared him down with an intensity she normally reserved for those on the opposite end of her sword. “Kelsey Coltrane. If you never listen to another thing I say, listen to this. I made a promise when I agreed to marry you, and you know how I feel about keeping my word.”

“But what if-”

“No. No what ifs. Just a few days ago, we were planning our wedding, and _that_ is the future I’m going with.” Her eyes softened. “Please. Trust me, Kelsey.” He nodded, and she lay back on her side, stretching an arm across his torso. They lay quietly as he traced his fingertips up and down her arm, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He didn’t seem terribly convinced, and she found herself telling the story without giving it an excess of thought. “We ran into Delon by accident, you know. He was this scared country kid miles from home and out of his depth and I felt so bad for him. But I’d already promised Nalia De’Arnise that we would help her, so I made Gaelen Bayle swear that he would make sure the kid was safe and protected while we were gone. When we got back, I found out that he’d taken to hanging around the park in the Government District…I guess it was as close to home as he could get in Athkatla.

“But before we could pick him up, we were waylaid by this guy who said he’d seen what happened on the Promenade. He said he felt bad about just standing by and watching, and that he wanted to make it up to me, of all the crazy things. I mean, honestly, what was he thinking?” Kelsey glanced at her with an embarrassed little half chuckle, and she added, “But I guess I’m crazy too, because it never even crossed my mind to tell him no.”

Her left hand rested on his chest, and he fiddled with the ring that adorned it. “So what were _you_ thinking?”

“That you looked honest. And sincere, and…genuine. In a city full of people who were only interested in what I could do for them, you wanted to do something for me.” She gave him a small, smiling nudge. “ Not to mention that you were far cuter than you had any right to be, under the circumstances.”

His ears went a little pink. “Really?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Do you honestly need convincing at this point that I find you attractive?”

“Well…”

“Imoen’s right,” she said, sighing with an affectionate roll of her eyes, “you _are_ a goober.” She propped herself up again, resting her free hand against his cheek. “Kelsey, you are quite possibly my favorite person in all the Realms. You are my friend and my kindred spirit and ever since I met you, I finally feel like I’m…myself. Like knowing you makes it possible for me to be who I am without any apologies or excuses. Does that make any sense?”

His eyes had widened slightly, and it took him a moment to reply. “It makes perfect sense, actually. I know exactly what you mean.”

“See? That’s why we get along so well.” She settled back against him, closing her eyes. “Probably explains why the sex is so good, too.” He tightened his arms around her, making a noise of pleased embarrassment, and she laughed. “Gods, you’re easy.”

“Well, obviously,” he said, clearing his throat.

“I really didn’t have to put much effort into getting you into bed, did I?”

“No, you didn’t.” He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “You just had to be you.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” she murmured, “but somehow you always manage to make being me sound like a good thing.” Her eyes were still closed, so she didn’t see him move his hand, but she most definitely felt the extremely blatant goose. She yelped, and opened her eyes to see him frowning at her.

“That’s because _it is_ ,” he said firmly. “No matter what happens, never forget that, Maera.”

She looked down at him, chastened. When she ran out of faith in herself, he always had more than enough to make up the difference. “That’s why as long as I have a choice, I’m going to choose you.” She curled beside him again, sighing deeply. “It feels like everyone’s waiting on me. Not just everybody else out there, but…Melissan, the Solar…hell, maybe even the gods themselves. But you know what I think about that?”

“What?”

“I think that puts me in an extraordinary position of power.” She burrowed her face deeper against his neck. “Let ‘em wait.”

* * *

 

“So good of you two to join us!” Imoen said cheerfully as Maera and Kelsey made their way around the sofas to seat themselves with the party. Maera said nothing, making a vulgar hand gesture in Imoen’s direction, but she just laughed. “No, that’s not my job. Is it, Red?” Kelsey silently flicked a marble-sized fireball at her.

The others chose to ignore the innuendo, save Minsc, but it was obvious he was somewhere far away, his forehead wrinkled in deep thought. He pursed his mouth hard, looked up, and said, “Maera. Boo and I would like you to know that we trust you. You are a great hero, the greatest we have ever seen, and anything you choose to do will be right.” She started to thank him and tell him it was unnecessary, but he continued, his voice suddenly small and rather child-like. “But we would miss you, if you went away.”

“I would too,” Imoen said softly.

Maera blinked back tears, but her next attempt to speak was cut off by Jaheira, who added quietly, “I have always believed your choices to be a part of the greater balance of the world. That said…you are my friend, and you are dear to me.” Maera swallowed; she looked at Kelsey, whose shoulders moved in a faint shrug and whose eyes were bright with everything he had already said.

From the shadows behind the farthest sofa, Sarevok said, “I would urge you not to accept our sire’s essence, sister, should we prevail.”

She met his eyes challengingly. “What happened to rising above my weaknesses and embracing my power?”

“You would not be happy,” he replied, and turned away. She stared at him, but only had a moment to be dumbstruck. The solar had reappeared among them.

“Are you prepared, my children?” Maera nodded, and the solar said, “When you leave this place, it will cease to be. You will have only one destination.” Cespenar, who had been fluttering about the perimeter, sighed heavily.

“Alls this work,” the imp moaned into his small hands. “Down the drain, and Cespenar is unemployed _again_.”

“Hey, don’t worry, Ces,” Imoen said brightly. “When this is over, I may be in the market for a familiar. I’ll look you up.”

Maera stood, squaring her shoulders and wrapping her hand around Daystar’s hilt, strangely at peace. For the first time in her adult life, she knew her purpose. Everything was lit in the illumination of understanding. Her life fell into place in an ordered line of necessity, each experience and decision leading her to the foot of the Throne. Melissan was just an obstruction in the planned progression of events. She needed to be moved. Maera could do that.

_What will you do when the time comes? What will you become?_

“Let’s end this.”


	36. The Throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This was her calling, her purpose, the reason she had been born._

 

_Child._

The voice reached out to her across the void, silky and unctuous. She could feel its shadowy claws reaching out for her even before her senses returned and she was aware of her surroundings. It was the Slayer, rolling the dice one last time.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” she muttered. Jaheira shot her an odd look, and she forced herself to keep the words in her mind. _What do you want?_

_You’ve come. Come to take your place. Come to embrace your nature. I always knew that you would, in the end._

It was all Maera could do not to laugh aloud. _You know me better than that by now. You’ve tried threatening me, recruiting me, intimidating me, and now you’re trying to cozen me. You’ve already lost, and you know it. No matter what happens here today, you’re done. If Melissan wins, she won’t even spare you a backward glance on her way to godhood, and if I win…Well, you know how I feel about you._

There was a hiss, an almost reptilian sound of indrawn breath. _You have always relied on me. You will not admit it, but you do not know how to live without me._

She glanced about her at her party, and felt the expectant weight of their eyes. For a half second, she caught Kelsey’s gaze. She’d asked him to trust her, and in his eyes, she could see that he did. _I think I’ll be okay._

Turning her focus forward, she saw the throne of blood, and she knew she would have recognized it even if she had not seen it in her dreams. It was completely familiar, a commonplace, ordinary thing, and it was her lack of astonishment that surprised her most. A pillar of heatless fire shot through the center of it, pulsing a strange measure, like an arrhythmic heartbeat. Surrounding it was a broad dais made of a sort of crystalline glass that glowed from within, and the same substance formed the solid surface beneath their feet.

Imoen glanced down and gulped slightly, her thin face paling, but Minsc confidently took her arm. “Minsc,” she asked, “doesn’t it bother you? I mean…” She swallowed again. “There’s nothing down there.”

He shrugged. “I never know which way is up anyway. Just follow Minsc and Boo, little Imoen. You will be fine.”

Maera smiled slightly and straightened her shoulders, sliding Daystar from its sheath as they crossed the glassy causeway. Melissan stood before the Throne, just as Maera had seen in her dream, and just as in the dream, she turned to face them, her eyes lit with the casual cruelty of a well-fed predator that hunts for fun. She could not have looked less like the ragged woman they had left on the riverbank in Saradush had she been a different person altogether. “It’s a relief,” she said calmly, as if remarking on the weather, “in a way. Our motivations are out in the open now. No more need for lies.”

“You know, you’re right.” Maera balanced the tip of her blade on the glass-like floor , resting her hands on the pommel. “I honestly felt a little guilty about distrusting you before. Now I know I don’t have to. I feel better, knowing that.”

The corner of Melissan’s mouth pulled in some mockery of a smile. “And look at us. So civilized, despite knowing what we both must do. You’re too late,” she said, a derisive laugh ringing just below the surface of her voice. “You can’t defeat me now; I’ve killed too many of your kin.”

Maera gazed back at her steadily. “This isn’t a numbers game, Melissan.”

“But it is.” The laugh still lurked, edged with arrogance and something almost approaching hysteria. “Even with your resident Bhaalspawn scholar,” she jerked her chin towards Sarevok with contempt, “lurking in your train, you do not possess even half the knowledge I have amassed in all these years. Knowledge wins battles, and I know more than you can possibly imagine, my dear.”

Maera wasn’t sure where her next words came from. “You cannot know what is bred in the bone.” Almost as one, Imoen, Balthazar, and Sarevok snapped their heads towards her with varying degrees of shock. She shook her own head briefly and looked back into her enemy’s eyes. “You want me, Melissan? Come get me.”

“Oh, I will,” Melissan purred. “First, though, I think something will have to be done with your lackeys. Seven on one is hardly a fair fight.”

“You think I care about giving you a fair fight?”

“And I thought you were the noble one.”

“Honor earns honor, Melissan. You’re a thief who would upset every plane of existence for your own benefit without a second thought. I could stab you in the back and never lose a moment’s sleep.”

Melissan arched an eyebrow, and raised her hand, drawing her body into a fighting stance. As if pulled from the very air, a halberd filled her empty hand, jet black, its bladed head already wet with blood. “Very well, Child of Bhaal. But you are not the only one with _his_ strength flowing through her now. I control this place. Its guardians will destroy those pitiful fools who follow you, and I will kill you myself.”

Maera gripped Daystar’s hilt with both hands, raising the sword to a middle guard. “You say that like you know. Nothing is ever decided until it happens.”

The detached amusement faded from Melissan’s features, and her lips curled in a snarl. She gestured with her free hand, and with a howl of unearthly rage, a black chorus of demons swept down towards the party. Maera glanced over her shoulder, catching Jaheira’s eye for an instant before turning back to catch the downstroke of Melissan’s long blade on her own. Jaheira nodded swiftly and began shouting orders. “Minsc! Keep them off her back! Sarevok, with me! Balthazar, keep them away from the casters!”

Maera heard the subsonic thrum of Imoen’s strongest shields springing to life, and Jaheira and Sarevok’s hoarse, wordless battlecries as they flung themselves into the fray. The heavy sound of running feet behind her was Minsc, cutting his way through the beasts between her and the main body of the group. “All right, demons!” he announced. “Who wants to be the mushroom on the Shiskabob of Evil?” Maera smiled as she dove under another sweeping slash. They could do this. She could do this.

 _All on your own?_ the Slayer asked.

“You know,” Maera said to it between gritted teeth, “you really ought to give this up.” She parried another blow one handed, grabbing the shaft of Melissan’s halberd with her off hand and jerking the weapon. The former priestess’s grip remained firm, but it cost her an instant’s balance, and Maera’s next stroke opened a thin, deep wound in her upper arm.

Melissan hissed, baring her teeth. “Give up? After all these years? I am so close to godhood now, I can see right through you.”

Maera snorted, skipping out of the halberd’s path, then back within the circle of the weapon’s reach, bringing her elbow up sharply to Melissan’s windpipe. “Really? Maybe that’s why you can’t land a blow.”

Melissan lashed out again, the halberd’s shaft a hair away from Maera’s face as she dodged. “Don’t think you can talk me into a mistake, girl,” she spat. “I was your father’s greatest instrument long before your birth. And now I am my own! I will have what I have earned, and YOU WILL SUFFER!” As she spoke, familiar shadows played across her face, and Maera felt a hot surge of joyful rage as she caught another blow on Daystar’s edge. A steady hum was building in the back of her mind and again she spoke not knowing the source of her words.

“Your power is stolen, Melissan. Mine is my _birthright_.”

Beyond the foot of the Throne, Melissan’s fiends screamed as they clashed with Maera’s party. Minsc was battered but cheerful, standing between Maera and any interference. Jaheira and Sarevok stood side-by-side against them, having created a surprisingly smooth rhythm of defense and offense. Within Imoen’s shield, she and Kelsey alternated spells and missiles as just outside it, Balthazar followed his orders to the letter, a dervish of smooth, constant violence.

“Did you see that?” Imoen gaped. “He just punched a balor!”

“Technically he used his palm,” Kelsey replied, closing his eyes and summoning up a fireball. He released it with a snap of his wrist, curving its trajectory around Jaheira. He glanced back at Imoen, who gave him a dirty look.

“Literalist,” she muttered darkly.

The demons’ roars were chilling to mortal ears, and Jaheira had to steel herself against the shiver of fear they caused. _Though I am far from your touch, Nature, I carry your strength still_. Sarevok staggered, a lucky scrape of claws catching him just above the eyebrow, sending blood pouring down his face. Without thinking, she raised a glowing hand to close the wound. He stared at her for an instant and she thrust out her jaw. “Are we not on the same side?” she demanded, pivoting to sweep her staff at the feet of a cambion. There was an unpleasant snap as the creature’s ankle broke; Sarevok wordlessly finished the downed demon before nodding briefly and turning his attention to the next unfortunate in his way. Jaheira sighed to herself; a common enemy could lead to the strangest of allies.

But there were more. Clawing and howling, the deaths of their fellows did not shake the demons, nor give pause to their bloodlust. Jaheira turned to stop the advance of an alu-fiend to her left – her attention diverted, another balor raked its claws across her back. They came away bloody.

“Jaheira!” Imoen shouted. At the sound of her voice, Sarevok turned and ran the balor through, his sword ripping through the demon’s hide. Balthazar nimbly dodged through the press of enemies to pull the druid back to check her wounds. Her mail was rent and ragged, her padded undershirt soaked with blood. She gripped her staff with white knuckled hands, and seemed to have trouble catching her breath.

Imoen slung her bow over her shoulder and held out her hand to Kelsey. “Desperate measures, Red.”

Kelsey eyed her outstretched hand dubiously. “Are you sure about this, Imoen?”

“No time like the present.”

He took her small hand in his, focusing all his magic on it, as she began to chant an incantation. He closed his eyes, listening to the familiar rise and fall of the arcane words; he was familiar with the spell, but timing was everything if their experiment was going to work. As she reached the final syllable, sparks gathered on the fingertips of her free hand. Even with his eyes closed, he could sense them, and with the last word, he opened the door on his own magic, letting it pour through their joined hands. “Sarevok!” Imoen gritted, “OUT OF THE WAY!”

A bolt of blue-white lightning so wide it might have more properly been called a sheet cracked from her hand, arcing through the throng of demons; Sarevok barely escaped its path. A boom of thunder loud enough to make the ears ache drowned out the agonized screams of the creatures in its wake. Kelsey had to physically pry his tingling hand free from Imoen’s as she panted, surveying the carnage. “Damn,” she grinned, “we are _good_.”

Kelsey allowed himself a chuckle. “Yeah, we get by.” He looked towards Jaheira and Balthazar; he was helping her drink a second potion. “How is she?” he called.

“I will live,” Jaheira gasped hoarsely. “We cannot stop now. We are not finished.”

Melissan’s eyes swept the carnage, the motion not going unnoticed. “What’s wrong, Melissan? My little friends killing too many of yours?” Maera couldn’t resist.

“Hardly,” Melissan sneered. “This is only a fraction of the force at my command.” She swung the butt end of her halberd up in a long arc, then grasped it one handed, gesturing with the other. The air shuddered as four teleportation portals crackled; they closed and four blank-eyed figures stood in their places. “But who needs demons when you have something even better?”

The silent forms of Illasera, Yaga-Shura, Abazigal, and Sendai opened their eyes as one. They looked as they had in life, but their faces were blank and expressionless, their bodies unnaturally still, like marionettes waiting for the puppeteer’s hand. The party slowly drew up around Jaheira, who dragged herself to her feet, leaning heavily on her staff. Kelsey gulped, his mind racing with a half dozen strategic scenarios. None of them ended well.

All eyes looked to Maera, standing in front of the Throne with Daystar held in a low guard. The sword blade trembled. Her shoulders began to shake. She was laughing.

Even the demons stared.

“Poor Melissan.” Maera’s voice trembled with merriment. “Everything you claim to know, and you set _them_ on me?”

Melissan’s face darkened, flushed with anger and embarrassment. “How dare you mock me? I control the essence of Bhaal now; they are my servants, subject to my will alone! You can’t defeat them all! This is over!”

“That might be true. If not for a small detail.” She gestured towards the motionless figures of her dead siblings with her sword. “They died by my hand, and those of my allies. They couldn’t hurt me now if they wanted to. Which they don’t, because they’re dead and they don’t care anymore.” Melissan’s jaw trembled, and Maera shrugged. “Don’t ask me to explain how I know. I just do. I guess that’s the difference between us, Melissan – I was born to play this game. You were never invited.” She dismissed the four dead Bhaalspawn with a jerk of her head. “Go. You’re not needed here.”

Melissan screamed with rage, whipping her halberd down, and the shadows of the Slayer cloaked her entirely. Maera barely had time to parry the blow. “You are nothing!” Melissan cried. “This is my right!”

_Are you going to stand for this?_

“You stay out of this,” Maera growled. She swung aggressively, pushing her way into the halberd’s reach again, forcing Melissan to rely on the weapon’s shaft, rather than its blade. “Listen to me, Amelyssan the Blackhearted,” she said, her voice low and razor-edged. “You play with stolen power and think it makes you a god. But your arrogance has blinded you. You’ve lied so many times you believe it yourself. You do not belong here.” Again, the words were not quite her own. “This is _my_ realm.”

The remaining demons seemed unsure of what to do next; Minsc solved their dilemma by beheading the nearest fiend with a cry of “Who wants some?!” Balthazar kept to Jaheira’s back, keeping foes from taking advantage of her ruined armor. Kelsey sent a shower of ice into the nearer of the two cambions pressing their attack against the monk, and followed it with a carefully sized fireball. But precision control was becoming more difficult; the magic was growing slippery and harder to direct. His head swam, and if he focused on any one thing for too long, white sparks danced before his eyes. Gritting his teeth, he glanced towards Maera, hoping to see a breakthrough in her duel with Melissan.

“Imoen?” he panted nervously. She shot him a quick look as she loosed another arrow. “She’s glowing.”

It was the strangest sensation, much like the feeling of stretching she had experienced when her soul was returned after Irenicus’s death. With every swing and block, it grew; her body seemed filled to overflowing with raw strength. She was moving faster, striking harder, aware of every muscle and bone, of the air in her lungs, of the blood singing through her veins. Of the life growing within her, its small, newly made heart beating in time with hers. Time had slowed to a crawl and her eyes could see everything; the smallest twitch of Melissan’s grip on her weapon, the slightest turn of her features, all bathed in the light of the cold fire pouring through Bhaal’s empty Throne, and in the light that radiated from herself, the bright opposite of Melissan’s Slayer shadows. She was caught somewhere between the fierce elation of battle and a chill certainty that spread over her mind like mirror glass. It was a sensation she had felt before, but never with such clarity. This was her calling, her purpose, the reason she had been born.

It was her duty. It was her destiny.

She slammed into Melissan again, driving her shoulder into the other woman’s sternum. It didn’t even hurt. The former priestess fumbled for an instant with her halberd, and Maera watched it tumble out of her grip. She kicked it out of reach, forcing Melissan back, nearer the Throne. She slashed, and Melissan stumbled, landing hard, her back against the empty seat. Panic flashed in her eyes, but her face was resolute as Maera raised Daystar high for the final blow.

“This is finished!”

The solar strode up the crystalline causeway towards the Throne, her flaming sword drawn. The few remaining demons took a single look at her and vanished into the void. Imoen sagged against Kelsey’s arm, Jaheira swayed slightly, and Minsc dropped his sword to support her, holding her shoulders with his huge hands. The bell-like sound of the sword striking echoed in the sudden silence.

Maera did not lower her sword. She merely turned slightly to look at the solar. Kelsey noticed with disbelief that she was not even breathing heavily. She raised an eyebrow, her face calm.

“It is done, godchild,” the solar said firmly, but then her face softened slightly. “And well done, too.”

“Thank you.” There was something different about her voice. Kelsey couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was more resonant, more present. The vast emptiness of the Throne plane should have swallowed it, and yet it seemed she filled every inch of it.

“It is within my power now to perform one of two tasks for you. In the first, I can remove the essence of Bhaal in yourself, and the stolen essence in this creature,” she gave Melissan a dark look, her eyes flashing with literal fire, “delivering it to the heart of Mount Celestia. This plane will be destroyed, and Bhaal will cease to exist.

“In the second, I can deliver that portion of your sire’s essence trapped in Amelyssan to you. You may make this place _your_ Throne, and shape it in whatever way you desire.” The solar bowed her head, raising her sword in a graceful salute. “And I would be proud to enter your service as your messenger and champion.” She looked up, her bright face expectant. “The choice is yours, and yours alone. Maera.”

Silence reigned. Maera looked at the solar, her face contemplative, her body still wreathed in the halo of light. Kelsey felt Imoen’s hand tighten on his arm, and he swallowed, trying to ignore the tightness in his throat. “It’s out of her hands now, isn’t it?” he whispered. Imoen didn’t reply, but her hand shook slightly.

This was it. The godchild sent to the mortal realm had fulfilled her purpose. He remembered her eyes, soft and warm as velvet. _Please trust me, Kelsey_. Was it enough that she wanted to stay? Enough that she loved him, wanted to marry him, wanted their child? Or were her own wishes unimportant in the schemes of the gods? He searched her face for his answer, and their eyes met, but only for an instant. The fire that lit her was too bright; he couldn’t bear to look for longer. His eyes blurred slowly with tears as he dropped his gaze.

Finally, she spoke.

“Take it, solar.”

He looked up, his heart suddenly racing. The solar tilted her head “Are you certain?”

“Bhaal is dead. He needs to stay that way.”

The solar bowed deeply. “Very well. It shall be done.” She stood between Maera and Melissan, taking the hand of the former before looking down at the ex-priestess. “Amelyssan, you have absorbed a divine essence into a soul not made for such. When I remove it, you will die.” Melissan’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing. The solar placed the palm of her large hand on Melissan’s forehead, and closed her eyes.

Maera would never be able to describe what it felt like. The closest term she could think of was “deflation”, but there was no negative connotation to the process. Even as all the strength and awareness flowed away, she did not feel empty, merely different. Like high tide washing out to sea, there were wonders were left in its wake, waiting for her to find them.

She fancied for an instant that she heard the Slayer scream. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking.

The sensation faded, and she stood at the foot of the empty throne, the solar beside her, Melissan’s body at her feet. The solar released her hand, smiling gently, and she took an experimental breath. Glancing down at herself, she noted no physical changes. Everything seemed in working order. She turned towards her silent, watching companions, and the first eyes she met were Kelsey’s.

He stared at her, concern and dread warring with the wild, desperate hope in his eyes. The corner of her mouth twitched in the beginning of a smile. “Hi,” she whispered.

In three strides, he crossed the space between them, arms flung around her, mouth pressed against hers. She could feel the tears on his cheeks, taste them on his lips, and a thrill of pure, unadulterated joy raced through every fiber of her being. Kelsey’s hands ran down her back, over her sides, as if he was trying to convince himself she really was there, and there was a fierce desperation in his kiss that made her knees weak and her skin electric. He drew his hands up to cup her face between them before finally pulling just far enough from her lips to murmur, “Oh my gods. Oh my gods, Maera.” An elated laugh forced itself past her attempts to swallow the lump in her throat, and her chin quivered as he surveyed her features, eyes bright. “I feel a league tall,” he laughed, his smile every bit as broad and joyful as her own. “You’re here. You’re still here.” He held her face in those long-fingered hands she loved, and whispered, “My warrior woman. My love.” The next words brought fresh tears to his eyes. “My _wife_. Mother of my child. My Maera.”

She laughed again, her arms around his neck, smiling so her cheeks ached, and she was about to kiss him once more when a slim, curved bit of wood, very much like a bow, cut in between them. “You know, Kels,” Imoen said, covering her sniffle with a look of disdain, “there are other people who might wanna hug her.”

Kelsey wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, chuckling. “You’d better give her back.”

“No promises, Red.”

Imoen embraced her hard, and Maera bent her head to tuck her cheek against her sister’s hair. “Thank you, Im.”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

Jaheira peeled Imoen away with a firm hand, ignoring her squawk of protest. She gazed up at Maera, the faintest of smiles on her lips, and said simply, “Gorion would be proud. I know that I am.” Maera felt her eyes grow wet again and was about to reply when she was whisked into the air by a massive pair of arms attached to a jovial ranger.

“We have done it again!” Minsc boomed as Maera yelped. “Never has there been greater heroism than that of Maera and Minsc and Boo! And to think you do it all without a hamster of your own!”

Balthazar watched the celebration, his smile only slightly sad. “Our sisters are victorious,” he commented to Sarevok. “Their joy is well earned.”

“Yes.” Sarevok crossed his arms, his face still. “And have we done as they deserve, monk? Have we been the brothers they needed?”

“They live to enjoy their success. I think that we have.”

“Good.” Sarevok watched the continued embracing a beat longer, then shook his head, a flash of ironic humor crossing his face. “The old man _won_.” Balthazar’s left eyebrow arched, and he explained. “Those two are Gorion’s gamble. He bet the Realms on them. And he won.”

Maera found herself disentangled enough from the others to find her way back into Kelsey’s arms. Standing in the midst of their jubilant little knot, she rested her head against his and exhaled slowly. It would be days, and weeks, and longer before what had happened here truly sank in, before she could genuinely claim to have a sense of just what she had done. Maybe she never really would. Kelsey glanced at her, turning his head to kiss her cheek. “I’m so glad you decided to stay,” he murmured. “I don’t think I will ever been able to express how happy I am right now.”

“I told you I was going to keep my word.”

“I know, but there for a minute it seemed like-”

She put a finger to his lips. “You couldn’t look at me. Nothing could ever be worth that.” He flushed slightly and she gave him a squeeze. “Besides, I would have missed too much.” She touched her abdomen, a distant look in her eye. “I could have brought her into existence with a thought, but it just wouldn’t have been the same.”

Kelsey’s eyes widened. “Her?”

Maera cleared her throat. “Um, yeah, we should probably be thinking about girls’ names.”

“My children,” the solar said, her voice warm and gentle, “I must depart to complete my task, and this plane will shortly be no more. It is time for you to return to the mortal plane.”

“Where to, Mae?” Imoen asked, a sparkle in her blue eyes.

Maera thought for a moment, then shrugged, smiling thoughtfully. "Wherever we want."


	37. Epilogue - A Nice Place for a Henge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Everything had a beginning, everything had an end._

The morning sun was warm on Jaheira’s back and the stones were rough beneath her hands, but she minded neither. It felt good to be out in the brisk wind, surrounded by the calling of birds and singing of water. She straightened and surveyed her progress. Her henge was coming along nicely. It would be a modest affair, meant for her own use alone. Perhaps someday there would be a need for something grander, but for now, a simple ring of waist-high stones, bordered by a dozen wood poles marking the cardinal points and the quarters would be sufficient. She paused in the positioning of the fifth stone, stretching her arms over her head and glancing up the hill.

The solar had returned them to Amkethran after Melissan’s defeat, and after a few days’ rest with Balthazar, they made their farewells and headed north. There they found a tentative, anxious peace – the war was over as quickly as it had begun, and where Maera’s face was known, they were greeted with awed silence and wide-eyed whispers. No one asked what had become of the other Bhaalspawn. It seemed better left unsaid, and who would have really believed the truth anyway? There were homes to be rebuilt, crops to be harvested, and lives to be lived. There would be no rivers of blood, and that was enough.

At some point before they departed Amkethran, Sarevok had disappeared, and left no sign of his whereabouts. Maera had seemed vaguely disappointed by that, but her spirits could not suppressed for long, for their destination was the Deepwash, and Kelsey’s family home. They had descended on the Coltranes in fine form, and there in the garden on a fine autumn day, Jaheira presided over their wedding. She smiled to herself as she rubbed her lower back. It had been a very nice ceremony, if she did say so herself.

And then they had come here. She had to admit that Kelsey had chosen well in his purchase of the place – the house was large and airy, fronted by a cobbled courtyard, and facing a sweep of lightly wooded hills nurtured by a meandering little river. It was not the most magnificent place she had ever seen, either in architecture or landscape, but it was welcoming. There was something generous about the place, and she could feel its kindness in her heart. They had spent the winter furnishing the house (an inordinate amount of Maera’s attention being occupied by her library, to no one’s surprise), but now it was spring again, and Jaheira wanted to make as much progress on her henge as she could before Maera gave birth.

She picked up her shovel and began the hole for the final stone. “Not long. Not long at all,” she said to herself as she dug. Any day now, actually. What a shame, Jaheira thought, that Gorion could not be there to see it. But how would he react to becoming a grandfather? She laughed aloud at the thought. She could have scarcely imagined Gorion as a parent in the first place, but he seemed to have acquitted himself well enough with the child fate had brought him. He had only ever mentioned her in passing in the letters they had exchanged, as if he could never quite bring himself to say everything he felt, but there had been an undercurrent of contentment in their correspondence. He had enjoyed having Maera in his life, and Jaheira couldn’t say that she blamed him in the slightest.

It seemed like a lifetime ago, the day Maera had first burst into her life, but it really hadn’t been, had it? She could still see her in the great common room of the Friendly Arm Inn, Imoen at her hip like the overwhelmed child she’d been. They had been lost and afraid and looked so desperately young. But they had proven themselves resourceful and quick, and somewhere along the line, Jaheira had found herself providing more advice than orders. She still wasn’t entirely sure how _that_ had happened.

When she judged the hole deep enough, she took a moment to rest. Her shoulders were sore and her hands were scraped, but it was a good sort of pain; a pain that came from growing. Each day that passed brought a deeper communion with her small grove, and it whispered to her of the patterns of the land, its rhythm and its cycles. She felt more at peace here than she had in years.

“I still miss you, though,” she murmured. “I wish you were here. I think you would like it.” She closed her eyes, the wind stirring her hair. “But you will always be in my heart, Khalid, and wherever I am, you’re there too.”

Everything had its own time. Everything had a beginning, everything had an end. Their adventuring days were, for now, at an end. Maera and Kelsey would obviously be otherwise occupied, and Jaheira likewise had no intention of seeking out the road again in the foreseeable future. It seemed, as Maera had opined, like a good time to stop, and there had been such pleasure in her voice when she said it that Jaheira smiled at the memory.

Imoen and Minsc would be leaving soon, at an undetermined point soon after the baby’s birth, fixed upon Baldur’s Gate and whatever trouble they could find for themselves there. With no levelheaded oversight involved, Jaheira had no doubt that trouble would cling to them like metal filings to a lodestone. The sisters were attempting to face their imminent separation bravely, but it was no secret they would miss each other deeply. Jaheira had no doubt they would survive it, though; some things were too strong to be broken by mere change.

She sighed and stood. Time to place the next stone. But before she could move it more than a few inches, a voice broke the morning stillness. “Jaheira!”

Kelsey stood at the crest of the hill, calling for her, and the mix of joy and panic in his voice could mean only one thing. Jaheira brushed herself off hastily and set off up the hill at a run. It would seem it was time for a beginning.


End file.
